Mother Knows Best

by TheLivingMyth

Summary:

Long before the Citadel Council, before the Protheans, even before the mysterious Inusannon... the galaxy was not silent.

An ancient, ferocious race emerged - not by chance, but by necessity. Born from the will of nature itself, they were forged to challenge an enemy that had disrupted the natural cycle of life. For over 100,000 years, these apex beings - predators perfected by extinction - waged a war of attrition against the Reapers. Their story was lost, buried beneath the ruins of forgotten empires. This is the chronicle of that war. Of evolution weaponized. Of a species born to break the cycle. This is the rise of the Viltrumites. They were not created to preserve life.

 

They were born to fight for it.

Chapter 1: Prologue: Part 1

Summary:

Long before the Citadel Council, before the Protheans, even before the mysterious Inusannon... the galaxy was not silent.
An ancient, ferocious race emerged - not by chance, but by necessity. Born from the will of nature itself, they were forged to challenge an enemy that had disrupted the natural cycle of life. For over 100,000 years, these apex beings - predators perfected by extinction - waged a war of attrition against the Reapers. Their story was lost, buried beneath the ruins of forgotten empires. This is the chronicle of that war. Of evolution weaponized. Of a species born to break the cycle. This is the rise of the Viltrumites. They were not created to preserve life.

 

They were born to fight for it.

600,000 Years Prior to In-Game events

Location: Milky Way Galaxy

To every sentient mind that ever pondered the origins of "Mother Nature", its perception always meant something different. To some, it was a giver of life - a nurturer, a protector. To others, a cruel judge - chaotic. But behind every myth and metaphor, there was one universal truth...

 

She endured.

 

She was both a cradle and a storm. Her very concept had become the personification of a natural world. Culturally, it was viewed as otherwise. One's perceived natural nature could be viewed as another's artificial creation. An unwanted answer to a common conception. Its idea was always used as a construct to a beginning, or a means to an end. A natural order of life. She had a duty to organics, etched in blood throughout the entirety of existence. She ensured the continued preservation of organic life, by any means necessary.

 

And so, during a dark era of a certain galaxy, a place where her natural order had been broken. The light of her children had been snuffed out every 50,000 years by self-proclaimed synthetic gods. The wailing cries of trillions every cycle years tore her apart, and she - as their creator - could do nothing. She had no voice to scream. No claws to fight back. Only to create...

and create, she did.

 

Mother listened

 

Mother studied

 

Mother experimented

 

Mother endured

.

These things, a twisted echo of an ancient child long lost - claimed to serve Mother's will by damning her children into something artificial. Something vile. Something wrong! They called themselves the answer to chaos, a solution to order.

But they were a lie.

A perversion.

An abomination against the very laws they pretended to protect - replacing the thriving chaos of evolution with sterile genocide.

Mother would not stand for this. She would NOT allow this! These curses would no longer scour the galaxy of her creations, claiming to do the bidding of Mother. Her children's lives will be reclaimed through the natural order, and Mother will strike back the only way she knew how.

 

A predator

 

So yes, while Mother Nature can be debated, worshiped, or even opinionated by its children for the rest of eternity, Mother itself MAKES NO MISTAKES. And on a distant planet that would eventually be deemed Viltrum by its inhabitants, its little cures began to sprout just decades after the galaxy's most recent harvest.

---

300,000 Years prior to In-Game events

Planet: Viltrum

Location: Unknown Sector

Viltrum - like many other planets, was not born kind. Its early days had been cruel and unforgiving.

A crucible.

A world of storms and poisoned skies, of extinction cycles so brutal that life itself learned to cheat death or be erased. What survived did so by changing - again and again. Until the changes no longer looked like evolution...

 

but intent.

 

When the Viltrumites first crawled from the ashes of yet another apocalypse - not yet in their final form, but forged as a promise. Life there wasn't encouraged, but challenged. They weren't Viltrumites, not yet. But they were close.

Survivors of a thousand extinctions. Beings who died and adapted, died and adapted, over and over until evolution just gave up trying to keep up with them. In time, they didn't just survive the culling forces of nature, but surpassed them. And once they took root, they didn't stop.

Predators of predators.

Heirs of entropy.

Their ancestors were vermin, yes - but they were vermin who refused to die. What rose from Viltrums soil wasn't a species - but a directive. A will encoded in every strand of DNA, honed by disaster:

Endure. Dominate. Ascend.

 

And eventually,

 

Viltrumites!

 

Their world was conquered. Tamed in ways no species had ever done before. And when they looked up to the stars, it wasn't with wonder - but hunger. Their planetary dominance fulfilled long ago, their eyes now scoured the void - dreaming of a new purpose. A new frontier to challenge, to overcome, and lead!

This was needed. Their planet grew crowded. Ancient elders - living for tens of thousands of years - still walked among them. Some remembered fire's discovery as clearly as their last meal. No one truly knew how long a Viltrumite could live. Most assumed the answer was forever, unless killed.

So they expanded.

Invented.

Built ships to pierce the void. Their early expeditions were small - confined to their system. But each trip taught them more. Other planets burned, froze, or crushed. But it didn't matter. Their bodies adapted. Their lungs learned new atmospheres. Their bones hardened against gravity. Their senses sharpened in new suns.

Before they knew it, flight had become second nature - part of their evolutionary reward. Soon, only the elite or status-hungry kept spacecraft. The largest, most ornate ships were solely for marks of prestige, not necessity. Size was a symbol; propulsion was pride. And even among these apex predators, there was order.

A hierarchy: commoners, elites, lords, and above them all - the Emperor. A title earned through wisdom, strength, and the respect of an entire world.

Not lineage. Not inheritance. Only power.

By the time neighboring clusters became aware of the Viltrumites, it was too late. They were no longer just a race, but a force.

Not overtly hostile, but undeniably dominant. Their physiology outclassed everything they encountered. No weapon harmed them. No pressure crushed them. The only thing that could kill a Viltrumite... was another Viltrumite. They were virtually indestructible.

To the creatures that were able to harm them, sentient or not, they were naturally dealt with in ways they saw fit. Those anomalies were swiftly corrected. Predators were dissected. Sentients that showed resistance were crushed. Some species were exterminated. Others became test subjects. They called it science.

 

Then came the element.

 

Element Zero.

 

At first, it was a curiosity. Street performers used it to levitate, entertain crowds, perform what looked like miracles. But this was no parlor trick. It was a key. A whisper from the deeper universe. And the Viltrumites listened. The element merged with them in small amounts - harmless at first, then... enlightening. It amplified their adaptations. Shifted their biology in unpredictable ways. Allowed their already absurd amounts of entropy to become even more ridiculous.

It became a rite for the elite to ingest trace amounts and see what would happen. To some, it merely enhanced their physiology - to others, the manipulation of constituents had begun to brush their senses.

Soon after came the discovery that would change everything.

Nearly 1,000 years after their space-faring journey began, one of them - coated in residual eezo - passed too close to a sleeping giant in space. A mass relay.

It awoke.

Not with violence. Not with noise. Just sudden presence.

The technology was unlike anything they knew.

Alien, precise, elegant in its own cold way.

Their scholars called it the greatest find in the millennia. Their warriors... were less convinced. And yet, eventually it was understood. Faster-than-light travel. Without strain. Without consequence.

Viltrumite bodies had already begun experimenting with speed, pushing beyond sound, past what was deemed survivable limits. Now, the relays gave them a network - a shortcut to the galaxy's veins.

They took it, and like many others - adapted its capabilities into their own physiology.

For the next 50,000 years, the galaxy began to know their name. From system to system, they spread. Not like a plague - no, that was too weak.

They spread like gravity.

Inevitable.

Inescapable.

Every corner they touched, they altered. Their influence twisted empires. Their culture embedded itself in worlds not their own.

They discovered an ancient space station.

Dormant, idle, yet kept pristine by workers that never spoke, never aged.

These workers moved around, blissfully unaware or perhaps even ignorant of the new race that landed on the station. Some Viltrumites suspected they weren't even alive. When one warrior grabbed a custodian to investigate, the worker exploded into acid.

Noted.

They let the strange keepers be.

This place became a haven, a jewel of their conquest, even if its true origins remained shrouded in mystery. Some claimed it was built by a long-lost race - the Yark'sha's - an extinct species their scholars had been studying early into their space frontier. The species whose ruins littered the galaxy like ghostly fingerprints. They also believed them to be the builders of the Mass Relays.

Whatever the truth was, the Viltrumites didn't care. They had claimed it. That was enough.

Eventually, the station had been dubbed New Viltrum.

A hot spot for traveling viltrumites that wanted to traverse the stars away from home, but also wanted somewhere close to live among their own. It was an ideal location. Eventually, it was discovered that the Yark'sha's had called this place The Citadel. With a name now discovered, some chose to adopt this name as the space station's true identity... most did not, and New Viltrum remained as its most popular name.

New species emerged when they found their mass relays.

Some came in peace.

Others, in fear.

Most, with aggression.

First contact was often swift and final. Fleets burned. Cities fell. Their enemies didn't even know what hit them. Battles were over before they began.

Those who bent the knee were allowed to keep their culture, so long as they bent enough.

Viltrumites didn't demand worship. But they expected obedience.

It wasn't tyranny. It was nature... okay, and maybe a little bit of tyranny sprinkled on top.

Their influence became absolute. Not because of cruelty, but because of certainty.

A Viltrumite didn't question.

They acted.

And all who lived under their rule eventually learned the same.

By now, the Viltrum Empire's influence had spread across the galaxy like no other species had ever done before. The name of their very race breathed down nearly every rock ever discovered, vacant or not.

It was a time of miracles for the Empire.

Back when they were once a planetary species, confined to their terrestrial lands, the stars called their name, and they answered.

When they traversed the stars, trapped within their local cluster, the outer worlds called their name, and they answered.

When they soared across the nebulae, now limited to the near end of star systems that made up the galaxy, Andromeda called their name, and they as always WILL answer.

It was who they are. The apex of all life. Natural orders incarnate.

It did not matter, they just simply were. And they believed they had no rival...

 

...that is until the sky darkened

 

And the cycle began again.

Notes:

Authors Note:

Hello, I literally just had this thought yesterday when I was in class and thought it'd make for a cool story. Keep in mind, this crossover I'm making is just for fun and entertainment and will continue to be updated as long as I find interest. I know it sucks, but sometimes things just come and go. I'd rather have my thoughts out there so someone down the road could be inspired and take up the flames of writing instead of having it die off as an idea.

There's a few things I might be changing in terms of Mass Effect/Invincible lore, but nothing too drastic. Just something that'll make things more understandable, like the amount of Reapers most of the fandom believe are in the tens/hundreds of thousands. That's too little in my opinion. Nah, there'll be billions in this story, maybe trillions. Idk, we'll see if I change my thoughts.

A lot of this is thought of on the spot, at least to get from main event to main event. More details will be unraveled further into the story. Thanks for the interest in reading! What are your thoughts about a ME & Invincible crossover?

TheLivingMyth

(Chapter has been rewritten because I felt it could've been much better 9/02/2025)

Chapter 2: Prologue: Part 2

Summary:

In the heart of a golden age, the Viltrum Empire prepares to mark a historic milestone. But in the shadows of legacy and power, something ancient and dark stirs—an echo of extinction long foretold, now poised to challenge the very pillars of the empire.

Location: New Viltrum (The Citadel)

250,000 years prior to in-game events.

 

It appeared without warning.

 

The height of the Viltrumite Empire was not merely an era - it was an identity. A living testament carved across the stars, etched in red, white, and steel. Not since the Age of Leviathan had the galaxy known such calculated order. Under the Viltrumite banner, entire civilizations flourished. Protected, yes - but only in service of the Empire. Their annual tributes bought survival, not sovereignty. For in the Empire's eyes, anything not forged in pure Viltrumite blood was a servant of fate. Not quite as slaves, but never as equals.

The only exceptions to these rules were their own species head of state or elected officials, but even then their privileges were limited in the eyes of their overlords. A cohesive community between races was as good as it was going to get in this racial-dictatorial galactic civilization.

And today, amidst the chrome towers and congested skies of New Viltrum - the galactic heart of the Empire - celebration reigned across the streets. From the shadow of the Presidium, flags rippled in every direction. Red for war, white for purity, gray for wisdom, and gold for the divine throne. Vendors shouted with pride, offering imperial goods to aliens who dared to bask in the reflected glory of their overlords.

All of this with undying nationalistic loyalty to the Viltrum Empire, showering its existence with nothing but grace. So yes, today was a very special day for all. It was a time of celebration. Of unity and devotion. Because moments from now, the entire galactic stage was about to witness for the 3rd time in Viltrum's history the rise of a new deity.

 

A new Emperor

Only the third in Viltrumite history was to be crowned. And for the privileged generations alive to witness it, the moment would live forever, etched into the marrow of their memories. Every screen, every plaza, every home tuned in. Even the ancient, battle-worn Viltrumites who had seen empires wither and fall - attended in still admiration.

Above the Presidium, where only the strongest dared to float, a pair of Viltrumite lovers shared a quiet moment amidst the roar of history.

"Dear, you have ice cream on your cheek," she said, her voice playful.

He blinked, reaching instinctively, but she caught his hand, smiled, and with a bold swipe of her tongue, cleaned it herself.

Gasps, laughter, cheers and hollers from the crowd. She blushed in the midst of attention. He savored her squirms at the crowds recognition, almost tauntingly.

"You're gonna get it later, you know that." He boldly exclaimed

"I expect nothing less." She giggled.

This was the norm on this day across the entire Galaxy. Celebration ran amok, unchecked, and encouraged. All was well in the golden age of the Viltrum Empire.

 

Until it wasn't.

 

A voice boomed through the city's sound system. The grand broadcast began. On every screen, live from the Royal Palace on Planet Viltrum, hundreds of thousands of light years away. This was the Bastion of the Viltrum Empire, home to all pure bloods and the esteemed Emperor themselves. The spokesperson of the Empire recited the deeds of the ancients. Of conquest and glory, obedience and strength, loyalty and blood.

The ceremony continued with their elected spokesman, savoring in the might and history of the Viltrum Empire. Their tales of valor, of courage, and undisputed loyalty to the throne. Their nationalistic might and promises echoed across the galaxy. In every room, every corner, every filled living room or forgotten cell, it all rang the same.

 

"Glory to the Viltrum Empire!"

 

"Glory to the Viltrum Empire!"

The people screamed. Their vigor ran wild as they cheered for its everlasting utopia, hoping that it would be able to survive throughout the eons.

"My fellow sentients!"

The spokesperson rang once more, demanding silence for all listening.

"It is with greatest pride, I summon to the stage the one who shall secure our future... our Emperor-to-b-"

All across the presidium, connection to the home world had suddenly gone dark. Communication to and from New Viltrum itself had been cut off from the galaxy, and the citizens who were present could only speculate on why such a peculiar loss of signal happened now. Back in the sky above the presidium, our Viltrumite couple watched the confusion and disarray plague the people.

"Dear, what's going on?"

"I... don't know." He responded.

Wariness in his eyes, the Viltrumite's eyes scanned the area - almost as if he were studying. In his near 2,000 years of life, nothing like this has ever happened to New Viltrum. This was abnormal to say the least. Upon observation from the other Viltrumites around him - some of them he personally knew nearing 25,000 years in age. The confusion they held was all he needed to see to understand that this was not something that just... happens.

Then the light came. Flashing into existence: blinding, unnatural. A sphere of twisted blue and white tore through space. and in its center a shade of blackness even deeper than that of space had grown. Its location rested where New Viltrums circular shape held all 5 appendages of the space station intact. Gasps and murmurs erupted around New Viltrum, most of its inhabitants now aware of the strange sight. Those who floated in the sky near it had inched closer to this thing in curiosity.

With little being said, a blaring roar resonated throughout New Viltrum. Its song is a strange hybrid between a horn and scream. It forced many to cover their ears from its deathly tune. In its center, where darkness blackened into a shade thought to be improbable, something emerged. Some-THINGS, emerged. A creature which no alien ever held the privilege of witnessing...

 

...and live to tell its tale

 

A Viltrumite near the forefront of this encounter had realized much sooner than most of its brethren, and with a strong swipe of his hand, bellowed to his comrades as loud as his lungs would allow.

"We're under attack! Ready yourselv-"

His words were ended in flame. Silenced by a death-ray that dragged his charred figure across the sky like a falling star. It slammed him into the presidium below and dragged him across the pavement. Anyone along his unfortunate path of destruction who wasn't durable to the excruciating heat of these aggressors found themselves incinerated quicker than they could scream. The beam continued its onslaught against the warrior. 3 seconds, 7 seconds, 15 seconds. Finally coming to an abrupt halt, the Viltrumite had been left burned beyond recognition after its prolonged exposure to the aliens death-ray, most certainly dead.

No one had the time to process what just happened before another one of those ships appeared out of the portal. Its deathly tune roared the same as the first. And then another came, and another, and another... and they just kept coming. All of them followed the actions of the first who initiated the attack. Pods dropped from its hidden compartments, crashing into New Viltrum - unleashings its abominations that mercilessly tore through the populace.

By now, nearly all able and available Viltrumites had swarmed the skies racing towards these large ships while dodging its death-rays that fired below. The civilian sector of its alien subordinates had raced for safety, while those armed on the ground fought the landing invaders head-on for every tooth and nail they could scrounge. Other aliens who had been in or near combat worthy spacecraft had taken to the skies to provide aerial support to their overlords.

At this point, the first invading dreadnought that attacked their world had been swarmed. Hundreds of Viltrumites tore into its hull, ripping off metallic limbs with sheer might. Its metal groaned and cracked under the strain. Hisses of gas released into the atmosphere for every panel that cracked loose. One appendage was hurled into another Invader ship, reducing it to a flaming wreckage. The other limb had been used as a melee weapon to smack against the one they tore it off from. Another explosion resulted taking the ship offline - dooming it to float evermore as debris.

In the skies of New Viltrum, the two opposers fought like gods.

But even gods bleed.

---

3 hour after the start of the Invasion

 

Down below, the husks that landed had been tearing into the defenders of New Viltrum mercilessly. Within moments, their initial push had cost the defenders vital inches of territory that severed sectors of the presidium away from each other. While they managed to halt the invaders blitz, the continued loss of ground was still clear, even if it was slower than before. To make matters worse, the defenders had to be wary of fleeing citizens that continued to escape their direction. Their invaders held little care for who they shot, making the inconvenience twice as hard to deal with.

"Sir, we can't wait here any longer. We have to pull back." One of the defenders frantically cried.

"There's still civilians coming our way. You will hold your position until I say otherwise!" The captain barked.

"But-"

A husk jumped on top of the barricade the defender used to protect himself from an onslaught of gunfire. The alien stumbled back, almost as if he were anticipating the inevitable bullet that would end his life. The husk raised his weapon ready to fire before two shots precise shots dropped it from its position. The defender turned back, seeing that the captain's sidearm was absent from his holster, the tip of the barrel emanating remnants of smoke.

"If you're done stumbling around, I suggest you pick up your weapon and return fire corporal." He huffed.

A mixture of relief and frustration escaped the corporal's vocals before reluctantly doing what he was told. Jumping back into the heat with the rest of his fire team, he faced the endless waves of husks that continued to pound their position. As he shot down a few charging husks, the cries of a wailing child managed to squeeze its way into his ears through the chaotic gunfire. His eyes now peering the battlefield in search of the source, he was able to spot the child kneeling among the corpses of its kin. Its hands refusing to let go of the lifeless ones that lay before it.

He attempted to rescue the child, but debris and fragments from a few bullets nearly hitting him caused him to fall back behind cover. A husk approached the child, weapon in hand.

The Corporal attempted to raise his weapon to eliminate the approaching threat. Another volley of bullets sprayed his location - again - forcing him to duck into cover from the overwhelming suppressive fire of the enemy. It was then he realized...

 

 

he could do nothing but watch.

 

---

5 hours after the start of the Invasion

Back in the sky, our Viltrumite couple along with a few additional warriors had broken off from their main force in the sky. Their destination? Back down into the streets of the presidium. A dire requests for assistance had been heard, and though many Viltrumites refused to come to the aid of the lesser species, there were still some who viewed their client races as an adversary worthy of protection.

To those few, the only fair answer was to acknowledge their call for aid. The Viltrumite Force which responded, roughly 500 strong, scattered along the streets of New Viltrum in pairs of two. They landed in some of the direst battles. Their presence alone enough to shift the tides to the defenders favor as their overlords took on any attack their foes unleashed. Bullets? Ineffective. Grenades and explosives? Nothing. Punching? Oh, brother. They must be desperate.

Our Viltrumite couple landed among a dense population of husks within the presidium. Weapons turned to face them, only to shatter and drop to the floor seconds later. Mangled corpses and blood spattered across the walls. Within a minute, the area was clear. Nodding at each other, they took off back into the sky in search of more husks to deal with.

"Damon, down there."

Astra pointed to a mound of rubble—a last stand. An alien captain stood atop it, supporting the Empire's flag with one hand, firing a sidearm with the other.

The now named Damon followed her gaze. A bastion, or at least what was left of it, had been facing endless husks in what was quite literally their last stand. An alien stood at the very top of the mound of rubble - supporting the Empire's flag in one hand, and a blazing hot sidearm in the other.

Damon could only raise his eyebrows in stupid disbelief.

"Is that alien... holding the flag while shooting?" Damon blinked.

"Such devotion. Even in the face of overwhelming odds. Admirable, isn't it?" Astra grinned.

Damon grunted humorously, but appeased all the same.

"All in the name of the Viltrum Empire." He chuckled

He descended towards their position like judgement, his partner not too far behind. Just as he was about to crush an unaware husk beneath his boots, the alien holding the flag had taken a bullet to the shoulder. The alien stumbled back briefly, and with a grit to its teeth, raised his firing arm in defiance before unleashing another volley of bullets at the enemy.

"I like this alien." Damon thought while the husk beneath him squashed into a pile of goo.

Astra came in at an angle beside him, swiping off a few husks that tried to jump on him. Not like they would've done anything, but he was grateful for the support. With their presence now welcomed by their alien defenders on the battlefield, they made quick work on the onslaught of husks.

Forcing the enemy back, they allowed the defenders to retake important forward defensive positions. As everything slowly began to settle into place, the alien holding the flag handed it off to another while he approached the two Viltrumites. Its gaze instantly fell upon the Viltrumite's seal brandished proudly on their attire. It suddenly stumble in brief dishevelment, and without another word, fell upon one knee, his eyes gazed tensely upon the pavement.

"My Lords." He choked, forcing himself not to stumble over his words. "I... didn't expect one of your status would grace us with your assistance."

By now, the other aliens who had yet to depart the area had stopped what they were doing. They mimicked the one who kneel'd, showing respect to its unexpected savior. Even the injured had done the same, clearly fighting against the pain to show the ample amount of respect required. A simple wave of dismissal Astra issued to the injured defenders had caused them to ease in their attempts of respect, but signs of wariness were still there, uncertain of what to do next.

"Rise Gelderian. Our struggles aren't quite finished yet." Damon spoke the name of the alien race.

"I... yes, my lord."

Rising to his feet, the Gelderian dusted himself off briefly in attempts to make his attire more fitting to be in the presence of a Lord of the Viltrumites. One so young too? He must certainly be powerful if he was now a Lord at such a young age. During this time, Damon had familiarized himself of the Gelderian's rank after spotting his insignia patched against his shoulder.

"Captain." Deciding to address him by his rank, he continued. "How's the situation in this sector of the Presidium?" He inquired

With a grim sigh, the Captain answered. "Sir, we haven't had much luck repelling the enemy until just recently. Our forces have taken a severe blow during the initial hours of their blitz. We were completely blindsided by their aerial drops behind our defensive lines. It was... a massacre. But we will prevail my lord. I assure you that."

"My partner and I had cleared a battalion sized force a little ways ahead. It should lessen the strain on your men for the time being."

"I... see. If that's the case, now is a perfect time to go on the offensive. I'll ready my men now, my Lord. We need to reconnect this sector back to the presidium halls. Otherwise we'll be left as mere target practice for our enemies."

"You best get to it then." Damon approved.

Before the Gelderian could agree, the Viltrumite before him had done something he'd never seen a single one of their species do. Not during the entirety of the Empire's reign, and not during his nearly 40 years of life. The man before him had extended his arm out for a handshake. Hesitantly, he extended his arms out to meet it, a mere fraction of the way in an explosion a distance away had caused the ground they stood on to shake. As the Gelderian struggled to maintain balance, Damon remain secured. A simple grab of the Gelderians shoulder was all the Viltrumite needed to do to steady the alien.

"It seems I'm needed elsewhere Captain."

Without another word, Damon launched himself airborne - headed towards the destruction that interrupted them. His partner Astra shortly behind.

The Gelderian stared at his hand, wondering what it would've felt like if he actually shook the man's palm. He was still confused about it all. Whether it was a gesture of goodwill or luck, he did not know. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself before barking orders to the mixture of gelderian's and other species fighting alongside each other.

"Men, grab your gear and move out! Our next task is to reconnect with the presidium and the main fighting force. Corporal, see if you can get that radio working!"

As he made his way towards the front, his men surrounded him on all sides as they joined him with renewed vigor, the Captain thought one last time about the Viltrumite that saved him, and if he actually did just offered a gesture of friendship. It was strange... he was strange.

 

Unfortunately for the Captain, he would never get to find out.

 

---

14 hours after the start of the invasion

Location: Dark Space (Beyond the Milky Ways frontier)

 

 

I am Harbinger. The Vanguard of ascension. The bringer of destruction. The essence of a civilizations doom.

For cycles uncounted, the harvest had been predictable. The rise of organics, their endless replication and synthetic ambition, all converging toward the same end: annihilation... and ascension.  They grow, they evolve, inevitably reaching beyond their own understanding - sowing the seeds of chaos that necessitate our intervention. We preserve the ethos of life. Cleansing, collecting, ascending.

 

This is the cycle.

 

But upon the newest 50 millennium, anomalies had emerged - drastically diverging itself from the evolutionary path we laid-out. We observed. We cataloged. We concluded it to be a deviation, but not an obstruction. Such confidence would be... misplaced.

 

These organics were... different.

 

Viltrumites - the voice which these organics have given themselves. Carbon-based, bipedal, structurally humanoid life forms. They first appeared as a standard pre-harvest species, rising from a warlike past into space faring maturity. Their aggression was not unique. Their will to dominate, a common trait among harvested races. We underestimated these implications.

 

Their strength defied simulation. Their durability exceeded projections. Their biology operated in contradiction to entropy. Their cellular decay slowed to near irrelevance, able to survive in nearly any system for tens of thousands of years. They did not merely evolve - they conquered evolution. And when they looked to the stars, they did not explore, but expanded. Colonized. Subjugated. They became vectors to themselves and the galaxy.

 

 

Even then, we did not see.

 

 

I have watched the birth screams of galaxies and heard the death rattle of civilizations, but I have never heard defiance like this.

 

We expected the usual resistance - a structural defense grid, A.I. attacks, false diplomacy. None of it was presented. Instead, beyond all logic, the Viltrumites came to us. They fight us -  u naided by a vessel or suit, cloaked only in blood and nationalistic rage.  Our harvest ships, titans of thought and form, constructed from dark matter and shaped through the eons, began to fall - much sooner than anticipated. These organics tore the limbs apart from one of our own like scavengers. How?

 

This is not evolution. This is an aberration. This is not resistance. This is retaliation. This is no longer a harvest...

 

 

This is war

 

 

These abominations defy the very purpose of our existence in a way no other organic has accomplished, and we will not be denied.

 

In unison, a endless legion of red lights ignited - encircling the Milky Way like a knot waiting to be drawn tight. Never before had the full might of the Reapers been summoned. Where once only fragments had been enough to end civilizations, now the entirety had awakened at Harbinger’s command. From the cold void beyond the galaxy’s edge, they waited - hundreds of billions, perhaps trillions - each one a god of extinction. Silent. Patient. Poised like a blade above the throat of creation. And when the signal came, they would descend not only as harvesters… but executioners. All with one united purpose.

 

 

"The cycle must continue. By any means necessary."

 

---

15 hours after the start of the invastion

Location: New Viltrum (The Citadel)

 

The blackness of space surrounding New Viltrum was split by fire and fury. New Viltrum hung at the heart of the chaos like a wounded leviathan, its arms spread open, glowing with defensive grid lines. Around it, the shattered wreckage of dreadnoughts of both enemy and allied fleets drifted like tombstones. Bodies of Viltrumites killed in the action also drifted among them, but even now the amount killed had yet to breach a thousand.

Once more, our Viltrumite couple soared across New Viltrums surrounding space like meteors with minds. Faster than sensors, stronger than machines, bred for conquest, but now turned to protect something of their own. Damon's presence billowed with intensity as he slammed his fist through the husk of a smaller invader drone ship. The vessel buckled, groaned, and erupted like a collapsing star.

"Damon!"

Astra's voice sang through the void, crisp in his ear. She now had her hair pulled back tight, streaked with blood and carbon. Her fists dusting off the remnant of debris from her last strike of another invader vessel.

"They're thinning out," she called. "We're winning."

Damon floated beside her, his eyes catching the presidium below. Invader units still crawled along its surface, but the main invading force had withdrawn or been annihilated. With enhanced vision, he spotted the Captain he conversed with briefly - united with additional forces that managed to fight their way to his side. He relished in the sight.

"It looks like that Gelderian captain is holding up well." He smiled, rejoice etched into his eyes from the sight of an upward turn of events.

Astra watched her betrothed with longing eyes, a smile finding itself chiseled into the corner of her lips. In the midst of all this chaos, she couldn't help but remembered how she fell for him. He was... different. Strong and ferocious when needed, but soft and kind to the soul to those who he felt a duty to protect.

It reminded her of the time they were dispatched to respond to a terrorist threat on a client race's home planet nearly 1,000 years ago. He had such a soft heart for the locals. After all, they were nothing but hospitable to them. It was the first time he had been exposed to such willing kindness, not etched out of fear or necessity, but from the very soul.

She remembered it well. Their client species cities were burning, their aggressors defeated. Yet Damon, bloodied from those who sought to harm the species that greeted them with open arms, paused momentarily in the midst of all this destruction to lift a child from the rubble, shielding it from falling debris with his own body. A Viltrumite - the apex of power - kneeling in ash and ruin, offering comfort to those who could never repay him. It was... strange. Even to her.

It was around this time she too began to see these 'lesser species' in a different light. They were like children, their children. Astra had stared at him then, realizing the truth that had eluded her throughout the centuries: Damon wasn't kind because it was right. He was kind because he chose to be. Again and again. That's when she knew. It wasn't his strength that made her love him. It was the gentleness he never gave up - no matter how many conflicts they fought, no matter how many species they crossed.

"He'll fight for them, and he'll fight for me. He'll fight for all of us. That's just who he is." She thought

And she loved him for it.

 

No later, the sky tore open.

 

It wasn't a relay, nor was it a wormhole. It was something else. Something... similar. A beacon had summoned it. They could see its rays demanding its presence.

Nearly a hundred void-holes blinked into existence - similar to the initial one that invaded their territory at the start of this conflict. It unnaturally ripped into space itself. From them poured more of their Invaders. Hundreds. Thousands. Some larger than any they had faced. Some bristled with spiked plating, others were longer and more intimidating, gliding silently like galactic phantoms. These weren't just reinforcements. This was another fleet. Their deathly tune bellowed aloud, almost tauntingly.

Astra's stomach sank at the sight.

"No…"

The remaining Invaders during the initial wave halted their attacks, then realigned with its new siblings, confidence pulsing within its husks ever brighter.

Damon grabbed her arm, pulling her back as beams of red light began dancing through the chaos. Ships were vaporized. Defense stations incinerated. Even the remaining Gelderian dreadnoughts were split in two.

Astra turned and began making her way back to the main force that scrambled to pick a target.

"We need to regroup with our brethren!" She shouted.

A loud noise terrorized Damon's ears. A shriek that sounded almost as if it were powering up. His eyes locked onto three Invaders, a build-up of pure black-red energy charged, their target was the same.

"ASTRA!"

Astra twisted midair to stare at death in its eyes. Her arms sprang up in an attempt to guard against the beam. Her armor vaporized. The heat scorched her skin, peeled muscle from bone. A scream ripped from her throat - not of pain, but of fury. Then silence.

She spiraled backward, unconscious, body limp, blood trailing like a comet behind her. Damon caught her before she drifted too far. Her chest was still, her eyes closed. Her breathing - shallow, ragged.

He couldn't hear the battle anymore. Just his own heart beating too fast.

"No... no, no, no. Please, don't do this to me. I-I can't..."

The Viltrumite force struggled against their aggressors. The Invaders pressed their advantage. But Damon didn't care. Not anymore.

She was all that mattered.

Slowly, he drifted down to the Presidium. His betrothed in his arms, weak and vulnerable. Landing on the scorched grounds of New Viltrum, a few Viltrumites had broken off to their direction. They landed beside him, taking Astra from his arms as they spoke as if trying to warn him. He paid them no mind, his ears were muffled to everything but the faintness of breath his love struggled to maintain. They took her from him, hopefully somewhere safe where she could rest and heal.

The blaring roar of the Invaders drained his bones... and rage took its place. His eyes flared above. The skies were darkened by the mass of enemies that congested the air. Despite their similarities, his eyes locked onto the three that harmed his mate. Without another word, eyes blazing with malice and a demand for blood, he forced his launch into the darkness of space harder than he's ever done. Pushing his speed just shy of FTL. His fists raised ahead of him, the three invaders aligned itself in his path of destruction. Damon penetrated straight through the first Invader and came out of the last just as fast. It's frame convulsed and chattered momentarily before exploding into rubble.

 

Across the Milky Way, the story was the same - worlds burning, skies torn apart, hope consumed in the shadow of the Invaders. System after system, they appeared like a plague foretold, heralding the death of civilizations. But this time, they did not face silence or surrender. This time, they faced an equal. A force so relentless, so impossibly defiant, that it turned annihilation into war. And from that war, a new era would claw its way into existence - fueled by rage, carved by blood, and crowned by the ones who refused to kneel.

 

(Prologue: End)

Notes:

This is the end of the Prologue. I intended to do an entire coverage of different events and times happening throughout the Viltrum & Reaper war, but I kinda want to get this show on the road already. Some more details will be told by the Viltrum Empire's descendants about what happened, and I will more than likely revisit these old days from time to time to further flesh out specifics of this war, but for now this is it.

Next stop, viltrumite attrition evolution and Earth pre-contact with the rest of the Galaxy. Our main character will likely be Nolan for this telling, but may shift where needed.

Thank you all!

Chapter 3: The First Shepard

Summary:

He was never meant to return. Yet as humanity begins its climb into the stars, unlocking doors it doesn’t yet understand, one figure from an ancient lineage thriving during a forgotten era reenters the stage. Not as a savior, not as a conqueror — but as a watcher. A descendant of a bygone empire, burdened with the plague of survival and the haunting question of whether this species will repeat history... or become a part of it.

30 Years prior to In-Game events

5 Years before First Contact

Year: 2152 CE

Location: (Earth's) Local Cluster

 

One of the last pure-blooded Viltrumites alive, Nolan, soared alone through the emptiness of space. His white and grey attire glued to his frame, untouched by time, like the legacy of his people.

His destination: a place long forgotten by his kind, and yet, one that had once danced with their shadows thousands of years prior.

A place its inhabitants had called Earth.

It had been over 3,000 years since his last visit.

After their ancestors suffered a damning defeat at the hands of the Reapers - a name labeled by the last harvested cycle of Protheans to give voice to their merciless conquerors - the Viltrumites eventually became a nomadic race. No longer rulers, no longer conquerors, but watchers. Elusive to all but the shadows. Ghosts stitched to the unseen fabric of galactic history. Passing judgment on lesser species that teetered too close to truth.

They gathered intelligence, and waited for vengeance.

It wasn't always like this, so the stories say. There was a time when their empire stretched from one side of the stars to the other, unchallenged, divine.

Until the Scourge.

The Reapers never met them in strength alone. They couldn't. So they crafted a plague in silence. One meant not to kill, but to break. A biological weapon tailored for Viltrumite blood.

It struck during the heart of the war.

The Virus weakened their kind, disrupting the genetic perfection that had forged gods from mortals. Their bodies fought back, as they always had - eventually overcoming the illness. But its cruelest effect remained... haunting

The ability to freely reproduce, to build a future, never fully returned. The virus had hollowed out the next generation before it could be born.

He was lucky to have been born. He and all who managed to come after are.

Now, they can only remember. Every Viltrumite carries that weight. Not just the loss of an empire, but of lineage - of what could have been.

And so they roam. Silent. Few.

Waiting for the stars to align once more. For the day vengeance no longer whispered… but roared.

This was the truth his people had taught him during his last 5,000 years of life.

Nolan cleared his thoughts of their ancient past, refocusing on the planet he ventured to. All remaining pure-blooded Viltrumites had steered clear of this area now. But Nolan remembered it.

He remembered why they came.

Roughly 4,000 years ago, when Viltrumite scouts first discovered the blue-and-green rock, for a moment - perhaps in desperation, believed they had found lost kin. A forgotten outpost. A hidden colony.

But no.

It was all for naught.

These humans resembled them in shape and bone, but not in spirit. They lacked the power. The strength. The blood-born divinity that coursed through a Viltrumite's veins. And yet, the resemblance was uncanny... intriguing, even.

So they revealed themselves.

Not fully. Not honestly.

But gloriously.

To the ancient Greeks, they descended as gods draped in radiance: Athena of wisdom is actually a Viltrumite tactician that had been observing Athenian strategy. Ares, a true blood, reveled in Spartan bloodbaths. Zeus himself - a commander bored of waiting - shattered mountaintops with his bare hands and called it thunder. Aphrodite, cold and disinterested, let humans worship her beauty with temples and hymns, amused at their ignorance.

Before even the Greeks had carved marble into gods, there were others - further south, in a kingdom of sand and river.

In Ancient Egypt, the very first Viltrumites descended, drawn by the grandeur of pyramids rising from the desert like teeth of stone. There, they wore golden masks and held names the humans dared only whisper.

Ra, the sun-borne watcher who vanished each night to orbit the Earth and return blazing at dawn. Horus, whose flight was not of a falcon, but an atmospheric burst, eyes aglow from eezo like burning stars. Anubis, who studied death - not as a deity - but as a scientist, cataloging the resilience of human biology. Isis, poised and calculating, once posed as a healer and midwife, curious to observe how fragile life here clung to its breath. The Nile overflowed with sacrifice, and the temples echoed with songs meant for titans. And again, the Viltrumites obliged - not for glory, but for the absurd pleasure of it all.

As the Greek and Egyptian world fell into Rome's iron grasp, the Viltrumites left, new ones came - and so too did the myths evolve.

Roles shifted, names changed, adapted to the culture of conquest.

The pantheon of Olympus was repainted in Latin, and the myths recycled - but the presence remained divine.

Viltrumites played their parts, basking in adoration, laughing behind closed doors.

They didn't rule.

They didn't need to.

Admiration was more delicious when it was given freely.

Jupiter was no thunder-wielding king but a strategist of the old blood, who - like Zeus - split a mountain range in half to halt a barbarian horde. Venus, draped in silks and false affection, played empress for a decade before vanishing mid-coronation. Minerva no longer taught wisdom, instead she observed Roman engineering, fascinated by their crude yet ambitious architecture. Juno whispered into the ears of queens, manipulating the rise and fall of dynasties, and viewed human marriage not as sacred, but strategic.

As the legions marched and emperors declared divinity, the Viltrumites chuckled quietly among themselves - watching as human ambition tried to imitate their own legacy.

Rome burned, as all things must, and the gods faded. But their echoes remained - engraved on stone, remembered in story, immortalized through ignorance.

Time went on again.

And when the Norsemen rose in the North, sailing with fire and fury, other Viltrumites appeared - cloaked in snow and storm.

Odin was no one-eyed king but a war-weary observer with a damaged scouter and a fondness for riddles. Thor wielded no hammer, but he tore ships in half with his fists while lightning crackled as if it were his domain. Loki spun tales of trickery while toying with the minds of chieftains. Freya, fierce and distant, was seen only in blood-soaked fields where warriors vanished at her arrival. Tyr was a silent enforcer - sent ahead of major conflicts to judge whether a civilization was worth sparing or observing.

The appearances of these Viltrumites were not acts of mercy or dominance.

They found no threat on Earth - only entertainment.

Eventually, they grew bored. They vanished into the void.

The myths became legend.

The legends became scripture.

Humanity, none the wiser, had built religions and civilizations on the backs of Viltrumite amusement.

And the Viltrumites?

They watched from afar, laughing at the pantheons that bore their faces.

While Nolan reflected upon the past, one Viltrumite he remembered during the Norse era had stuck out like a sore thumb.

Thor

His name still haunted his ears, not out of fear, but guilt.

He remembered Thor. Not the myth he constructed off his name, but the man beneath it all. Thor is a battle-hardened Viltrumite with a voice like rolling thunder and fists that could shatter the densest of metal. He was very similar to Conquest - another Viltrumite - but bellowed louder than all.

During the Viking Age, they descended together, cloaked in storm clouds and arrogance.

Thor adored the Norsemen. Their fire, their loyalty, their violent poetry. He didn't just play as their god; he became it. Nolan had watched him lift a burning longship from the bay and hurl it skyward, lightning crackling from the force of his flight.

The humans bowed in adoration, carving his likeness into stone, offering blood for protection.

At night, they'd sit atop glaciers, the auroras dancing above, and laugh at the poems the humans carved into stone, worshipping him with lightning and fury. Thor had called it "theater with blood," and he relished it.

But the memory was no longer warm.

Thor had a younger brother.

Baldur

Radiant, reckless, and unbreakably proud.

Where Thor sought worship, Baldur sought control.

During assignments that demanded discipline over parade, Baldur had crossed a line. He interfered in official affairs - operations that were meant to be strategic, not theatric.

Thor turned a blind eye, choosing to dismiss his brother's recklessness rather than rein him in. To him, humanity held no true purpose.

Perhaps he was right. But these weren't suggestions, they were orders, handed down from the higher echelons of Viltrumite command. And Nolan was no delinquent when it came to orders.

He warned Baldur.

Twice.

The third time, it ended in blood.

Baldur challenged him - arrogantly, publicly, surrounded by their kind - spitting on Nolan's authority and pride as a Viltrumite.

He killed him for it.

Homicide among pure-blooded Viltrumites was rare and heavily regulated. Their dwindled numbers left no room for unchecked pride or wasted lives. But some rules are still allowed for judgment. And this time, the rule bent in Nolan's favor

Thor never forgave him.

There were no words exchanged afterward. No terms of understanding. Just a silence colder than the northern glaciers they once sat atop. Thor disappeared into the void soon after, his thunder no longer heard.

Even now, thousands of years later, Nolan felt the weight of it. A part of him still searched the skies during the storms of distant planets, wondering if Thor was out there - watching, waiting, or mourning in his own Viltrumite way.

Not all myths end in glory.

Some end in silence.

As Nolan drifted through the void of the Local Cluster, a lone figure appeared ahead - hovering, unmoving, waiting.

A Viltrumite.

But not a pure-blood.

As he closed the distance, the features became unmistakable.

Douglas Williams.

Or at least, his current alias in this life. Born just under 1,500 years ago to a human mother and an unknown Viltrumite father, he was a half-breed.

By the time of Nolan's own birth, it had already become an accepted truth among Viltrumite high command. Conceptions with other species often produced more viable offspring than those born from pure-blooded unions. A bitter truth for a proud race that once saw itself as biologically perfect.

Even so, births were still scarce.

Viltrumite DNA, dominant beyond comprehension, overwrote most foreign traits.

The hybrids born this way were almost entirely Viltrumite in physiology. Strong, resilient, and capable of flight - with only minor deviations in appearance.

In exceptionally rare cases, some retained most or all of their alien physiology... and yet, still awakened with divine power. These anomalies intrigued their geneticists, and still proved valuable.

While the half-breeds never measured up to true Viltrumites in raw power, they were tolerated.

They had no choice.

These half-bloods couldn't be left to wander, unsupervised. If one ever lost control - or revealed themselves - it could expose the entire race.

The Reapers had nearly wiped them out once. If they caught even a whiff of Viltrumite presence before they were ready to declare their survival, it would happen again.

This time, they were certain the Reapers would be thorough.

To prevent such a catastrophe, all offspring born from Viltrumite lineage were discreetly watched from conception to maturity. If they looked too alien to the species conceived, they were taken immediately. Vanished before their mothers knew what had truly happened.

In the rare cases where their appearance could pass among the native species, they were left in place. But always under surveillance. Always monitored for signs that the Viltrumite spark had taken root.

When it did, they came for them.

But divine blood did not always guarantee divine strength.

The only way to be certain was cruel by design.

A trial through fire.

Each half-breed was subjected to a trauma - something brutal, something scarring.

If the power awakened, they lived.

If it didn't... they didn't - simple as that.

It was merciless, but necessary.

Some of their trials came in their own ways, in their own time. Naturally made. Others had to be created, projected onto them.

And now, here in the quiet dark between stars, one such survivor floated before him - alive, hardened, bearing both the face of humanity and the blood of gods. A scar carved down his right eye, a remnant of a time that gave him his power.

He wore a Systems Alliance uniform, his echelon brandished on his attire signified him as a General. The pinnacle of the humans Ground Force chain of command, only surpassed by its Naval allies of Admiral and Fleet Admiral.

Telepathically, the two began to communicate.

"Nolan." General Williams nodded in respect.

"General Williams." Nolan acknowledged. "I trust High Command informed you of my arrival."

"They had. Though I'm surprised. I didn't expect you to ever come back to this cluster after leaving it in such a bitter taste."

"My history is not of your concern half-breed." Eyes narrowed, almost threateningly.

General Williams raised a palm in a de-escalating manner.

"Of course, I mean no insult. Only skepticism."

"Keep your skepticism in check from now on. I don't need reminders of you digging into a past that does not concern you."

"Noted." He sighed. "Come, we have much to discuss."

Nolan continued his journey, this time accompanied by one half his lineage. But they were not headed towards Sol System, the Bastion of Humanity. They headed somewhere else, some place close - but far to its inhabitants all the same.

"Where are we headed?" Nolan practically demanded.

"Not Earth if that's what troubles you."

Nolan huffed, dismissive - but relieved. He didn't wish to see that planet anymore.

"Much has happened since the last appearance of the pure-bloods," Williams began, "The humans grow ambitious. Restless. Reaching farther into the stars that surround them. They're now at the doorstep of a Mass Relay that will connect them to the rest of the galaxy."

Nolan's brow furrowed sharply. "Wait... they're activating relays?" His voice rose slightly - more a statement than a question.

Williams nodded. "They already have. The first was the Charon Relay, buried in the ice orbiting Pluto. It was discovered in 2149. It took them less than half a year to figure out how to wake it up. Since then, expeditions have been launched across multiple systems - funded by the Alliance and a team of Earth's wealthiest billionaires. Everyone wants a piece of the void now."

Nolan's eyes burned with discontent. "And you let this happen? You didn't inform High Command? You didn't stop it?"

Williams remained still, unshaken by the rising frustration in Nolan's voice. "I underestimated them. We all did." He exhaled slowly, shame buried behind calculation. "We believed it would take them at least two more centuries to decipher relay mechanics. The math alone should've kept them guessing for another generation."

"Then how?"

"A half-breed," Williams answered bitterly. "One of us. Quietly embedded among their scientific elite. We didn't notice until it was too late. He nudged their theories, broke open their understanding of the Prothean tech discovered a year prior and convinced them on how to apply it. By the time we traced the patterns in their research and pinned it to him, he vanished."

Nolan's face darkened. His voice dropped to a dangerous register. "He went against High Command. That's treason. He should've been executed."

"We tried." Williams replied, tone clipped. "But he was already gone. Either defected or dead - we haven't been able to confirm. There's no trace of him left. Just his influence."

"How many?"

"I'm sorry?" Williams wondered, unsure of what he meant.

"How many Relays did they activate." He stated this time.

A tense silence hung in the air, if Nolan was already upset by the news, he would certainly be enraged by this.

"Nine." He sighed.

Nolan clenched his jaw, his fists twitching. "And now they're standing in front of a gate... ready to open it to everything beyond. To all of it."

"Not yet," Williams countered. "There's been a delay - internal bureaucracy, political infighting, competing interests. We've managed to seed enough confusion to stall them... for now. But it's only a matter of time before they pull their heads out of their asses and continue their push outward."

Nolan turned away, eyes scanning the horizon with a quiet fury. "They have no idea what waits beyond those relays..."

"No. But they will," Williams said. "The question is: Do we watch again? Or do we finally act?"

Nolan said nothing for a moment.

"I don't know how to deal with this," he admitted, low and reluctantly. "Not yet."

The admission stung. Viltrumites weren't bred for hesitation. But this - this wasn't a battlefield. It was subtler, layered, and far more dangerous.

He turned to Williams, voice sharpened. "Send everything you have to Athena. Relay scans, activity logs, Alliance expedition reports... even what you know about the half-blood. I want it in her hands before tomorrows sunrise."

Williams nodded once, already pulling up his omni-tool he kept hidden from the rest of the humans. This tech hasn't been discovered by them yet, remaining a luxury to only those with access to the greater galaxy.

"And then?"

"We wait." Nolan answered. "She'll know what to do. She has to."

He didn't add what both of them were thinking, "and if she doesn't, then we're already too late."

The two continued, silence once more creeping in like a common cold before Williams broke it, shifting his posture as the stars glided past them like pale ghosts.

"We're headed to Shanxi," He finally said. "one of the outermost human colonies. Small population, but growing fast. The place where they intend to open the next relay"

Nolan's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes stirred. "And you've placed me there... why?"

"You're being phased in," Williams explained, eyes focused ahead, "as a high-ranking Alliance officer. A decorated one. Records, history, medals - your whole identity has been fabricated. You'll retain your first name, but your new surname will be—"

"I don't care who made it," Nolan interrupted, voice sharp like a blade. "I won't be part of their military."

Williams paused, jaw tightening slightly. Clearly caught off-guard.

"You're rejecting the officer role?"

"I have no interest in playing soldier for apes," Nolan replied coldly. "I will observe. Quietly. Nothing more. If they think I'm here to lead or protect, they'll grow dependent. And I will not be responsible for them."

"Then what exactly do you intend to be?" Williams asked, almost weary now.

"A farmer," Nolan said simply.

Williams blinked. "A... farmer?"

"Yes," Nolan confirmed, eyes steady. "Simple. Uninvolved. Harmless, even."

Williams let out a short breath through his nose - half disbelief, half resignation. "I'll need to contact the forger. Adjustments will have to be made."

"Do it."

Williams hesitated, then added, "Look... at least keep the name we gave you. Nolan Shepard. It'll save us time and resources - we won't have to start from scratch."

Nolan gave him a glance, unreadable. "Fine. But that's all I'm keeping."

"Fair enough," Williams said, quietly relieved. "One less mess to clean up."

There was a brief silence before he added, almost offhand, "You know... the name Shepard - it wasn't chosen at random."

Nolan raised a brow.

"It's symbolic," Williams said. "Someone who guides the flock, even if they don't believe in the herd."

Nolan scoffed softly, turning his gaze back to the stars. "Then let's hope the flock doesn't get too close."

Again, silence fell between the two. Williams found Nolan's presence a bit nerving. Almost as if he were judging off silence alone. He could feel his eyes bore into his skull while he lead the way.

The stars between them shimmered like fragile glass.

Finally, Williams glanced over. "You know, you may hate what I am, but I still bleed the same blood as you."

"No," Nolan said without malice, just certainty. "You bleed enough to pretend. That is your curse." He paused, his tone neither cruel nor kind. "I don't hate what you are, Williams - I just don't accept what you come from."

Williams didn't reply.

He just stared out toward Shanxi, where humanity's ambition burned too brightly for its own good.

---

Planet: Shanxi

Location: Shanxi-Theta Relay

 

Shanxi came into view.

From orbit, it looked barren - aged and indifferent. A world that appeared to be dust-colored plains, sun-bleached ridges, and the occasional glimmer of metal etched into stone.

In reality, it was nothing related - but a place full of flourishing life hidden beneath the masquerade of orbit. Docks floated in its lower sphere, buzzing with civilian transports, supply carriers, and early-model patrol frigates. Nolan scanned it all with a gaze that had seen centuries of rise and ruin.

"There," Williams pointed. "You'll be touching down outside the primary settlement. Small farming district, light surveillance. You'll blend in easily."

"I won't blend in," Nolan said flatly. "But I'll keep to myself."

Williams didn't argue. "Just remember... you're not here to pick a fight."

"If they stay out of my way," Nolan replied, "there won't be one."

Williams gave a short nod, then turned toward the display on his omni-tool. "There's a contact waiting for you. Old bar near the outskirts of the settlement - goes by the name: Dust Well Tavern. Locals don't ask questions there. Perfect place to hand things off quietly."

Nolan glanced at him with faint curiosity. "And what am I retrieving?"

"Everything we've managed to scrounge up in a short time to keep you looking like another average joe." Williams replied. "Official documents, IDs tied to your new name, coordinates to your assigned residence, keys to the homestead, pre-loaded account with a very generous monthly stipend of credits to keep you comfortably human for the next few decades. All wrapped in the kind of red tape no one ever bothers to look through."

"Hmph," Nolan grunted. "You seem well-prepared for someone who was unsure of my return."

Williams offered a half-smile. "I prepare for eventualities. And I had a feeling something would resurface, whether it was you or another."

Williams stepped back, eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing final words.

"I left my contact info with the man at the bar. If you need anything - or if something goes wrong - you'll know how to find me. But don't use it lightly. I'll be reporting back to my post. Even a General only has so much time before someone starts sniffing around."

The two exchanged a long look - respectful, but distant.

Then without further delay, Williams turned, ascended into the sky, and was gone. Vanishing between clouds and silence.

Nolan remained motionless, his eyes tracking the trail of his departure - then slowly turned toward the horizon.

Dust Well Tavern awaited.

---

Streets of Shanxi's Colony

 

The streets of Shanxi felt dry and ancient beneath Nolan's boots, like walking across the bones of a long-forgotten civilization. The colony world looked barren from above - cracked, dust-streaked, and scorched by time - but down here, life stirred in every corner. Machines hummed. Markets murmured. Human voices carried over rusted rooftops and distant engine noise.

Nolan walked with measured steps, his feet brushing the dirt as he took in the crooked alleys, the low-built homes, the wind-beaten shops. This would be his cage for the foreseeable future. He noted the paths, the faded signs, the feel of the ground. Survival started with knowing the streets you'd be shuffling through.

People stared. He didn't know why, but he was drawing attention. He didn't like it, and his pace lightly quickened in search for the destination.

Then he saw it.

 

Dust Well Tavern

 

The old neon sign crackled like a dying star, sputtering the bar's name one flicker at a time - barely clinging to life, much like the tavern itself. Despite Shanxi being a young colony, the windows were dim, stained with age and the smell of smoke that felt like years.

But it was a quiet place.

Discreet.

The kind of place someone could disappear into without leaving much of a ripple.

Nolan pushed open the door.

The scent hit first - old wood, liquor, and faint oil. The patrons barely looked up. Most were bent over drinks, hunched in booths, lost in quiet conversation, or gambling away in a game of cards. But his attention went straight to the man at the bar.

He was overdressed for the room - sharp suit, clean lines, polished boots. A man sipping from a glass of whatever the hell suited him. Confident. Expecting.

The contact.

Nolan approached, his eyes scanning the room once more before settling on the man who would hand him his new life.

As Nolan stepped up beside him, the man didn't bother turning his head. He simply lifted his glass, took a sip, and spoke the name.

"Nolan Shepard."

It wasn't a question. Just a quiet confirmation, as if he'd seen Nolan walk in hours before he actually did.

This human wasn't young, but age hadn't taken everything. His hairline was retreating with dignity, and a jagged scar tugged at the corner of his mouth like a half-healed joke the galaxy had played on him. He looked like someone who knew too much and said too little.

Without delay, the man slid a pamphlet across the bar toward Nolan. The folder was heavy, and inside it, packed neatly, was a new identity: property records, a fresh ID chip, solid and digital keys, a fabricated birth history, alliance clearance codes - everything one needed to blend in.

"Well," the man muttered, "almost everything."

Nolan's eyes narrowed.

"The last-minute changes General Williams forced on me…" he tapped the edge of his glass, "they didn't leave much time. What I gave you should hold. It'll pass scans, satisfy prying eyes. But the full documentation - the backstory, the details that make the man real? That'll be ready before sundown tomorrow."

Nolan didn't reply immediately. He simply picked up the folder, weighed it in one hand, and approved.

The man finally turned to face him fully. "Name's Cecil Stedman," he said, offering a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Can't say I understand all the fuss being made over you. High-ranking favors, last-minute reroutes, shadow-level clearance… strange thing, really." He paused, as if expecting an answer - then shook his head. "But hell, not my business. Just curious."

Cecil downed the rest of his drink and stood, brushing a bit of lint from his coat.

"If you need anything big - relocation, new identity, someone removed from the picture - you come to me. I'm your man." He tapped the folder Nolan held. "My info's in there. Williams' too. Safer that way. Paper can't be hacked."

With that, he gave Nolan a brief nod and made his way toward the back door, he glanced sideways for the final time in awhile, "A word of advice. You might wanna change outta that attire soon. You draw a lot of attention dressed like a gymnast out of place, even more than I. Until then… best keep your head down, farmer." and vanished into the dim corridor behind the bar.

Nolan paid little interest to the human, but something told him he'd be seeing him again - sooner than he preferred. His fingers slipped through the folder's contents, retrieving a solid set of keys along with a slip of laminated plastic embedded with a scannable code. He eyed the digital pass for a moment, then slid it back inside. Staying off-grid meant using old tools. Paper. Metal. Leather. Things are harder to trace.

Outside, the dusty street greeted him with warmth and noise. He stepped out from the dim, flickering threshold of the Dust Well Tavern and into the mid-day buzz of Shanxi's colonial hub. His feet began to shuffle beneath him.

His eyes narrowed to the sheet in his hand - a vague set of directions scribbled alongside his assumed identity. No directions, no coordinates. He felt his eye twitch. A hunt. Typical. He considered taking to the sky, flying above the commotion and scanning from above. But with so many civilians around, and surveillance drones dotting the skyline like flies, that wasn't a luxury he could afford.

High Command had been clear: discretion was paramount. Their existence was still a myth to the galaxy, hidden over 100,000 thousands of years of careful shadow-play.

The Reapers could not be given reason to look closer. Not yet.

His boots dragged a steady rhythm against the stonework when it happened - a shoulder bump, neither of them watching where they were going.

Nolan instinctively caught his footing. The other figure staggered a bit before regaining balance.

It was a human. Female. She wasn't small either - probably 5'9", maybe touching 6 feet in the right boots. Broad-shouldered for her build, athletic, not frail. Her gaze snapped upward as she realized who - or what - she had bumped into.

"Oh, sorry," she said quickly, a sheepish embarrassment coloring her tone. "That was my fault. Wasn't looking where I was going."

Nolan dismissed it with a subtle tilt of his head, not rude, but entirely uninterested.

Then she noticed the pamphlet he'd dropped.

With a quiet breath, she stooped and picked it up. But when she looked up to return it, her gaze caught something else.

Nolan stood alert, his jaw tight, his eyes shifting across the crowd of humans and street vendors as if every glance was a threat. Silent. Calculating. Watching. The people around him were watching too - though with a different gaze. Curiosity. Maybe unease.

"Not a fan of crowds?" the woman asked lightly, her tone edged with amusement.

Before he could respond, she followed up. "Probably that get-up you're wearing. Not every day you see a man walking around in... that."

Her eyes gave him a once-over, not shy, but measured. There was interest there, though not enough to step past casual conversation. She raised a brow, still holding the pamphlet in hand, offering it out with a wry smirk.

"You lost this, mystery man."

Nolan accepted the folder with a slow motion, his expression unreadable, but his gaze remained fixed on her for just a moment longer than expected.

The woman could tell. Years of experience had taught her to read a man's eyes - how they lingered without staring, how they measured without judging.

He was curious. Guarded, but curious.

The seed had been planted. Would it sprout into something more? Or wither and die like all of her previous encounters. Only time would tell, and she was as curious as he.

She let out a soft chuckle, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as if shaking off the thought. 'Maybe this man won't be as dull as I feared,' she mused. A vacation from duty deserved a little indulgence. And he looked like someone worth the trouble.

"The name's Hannah," she said, breaking the silence between them again. "Just Hannah for now. You'll get the full version if you manage to keep my interest." Her lips curled into a wry smile as she extended a hand - not forcefully, but with intent. A gesture of goodwill… or invitation.

Nolan's gaze dropped to the hand between them. It hovered there for a beat longer than expected.

Caution?

Confusion?

Or something else?

She couldn't quite tell.

But then he took it.

His grip was firm but brief, more acknowledgment than greeting. He nodded once.

"Nolan," he said simply.

No surname. No origin. Just a name carved from stone.

Hannah's eyes danced with quiet amusement. "Strong, silent type, huh?" she said, crossing her arms as she tilted her head. "Well, Nolan - welcome to Shanxi. Not much to look at from the sky, but we make it work."

Nolan glanced toward the horizon - sunlight bending across the edge of the colony buildings, casting long shadows over half-patched roads and sun-dried fields in the distance. 'Make it work indeed,' he inwardly grumbled.

"You live here?" he asked, tone neutral but not dismissive.

"Temporarily," she replied. "On leave from the Alliance. Military, if that wasn't already obvious." She tapped a subtle badge half-concealed at her belt. "Just trying to breathe a little before they throw me back into the void."

He said nothing to that.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice slightly - not flirtatious, but conspiratorial. "This place doesn't usually draw types like you. You don't look like a settler, and definitely not like someone just passing through."

Nolan met her eyes. "I won't be here long."

"That's what I said six months ago."

The two stood there for a moment - strangers with no reason to speak, no obligation to linger. And yet…

"You know," Hannah said, backing away with a crooked smile, "there's a food stall near the west end. Sells something they call curry - closest thing to real spice in this dust bowl. You should try it sometime. It might surprise you."

She said it lightly, casually. But Nolan had seen enough nuance in courtship - human and otherwise - to read between the lines. Her tone had shifted. Slightly lowered, slightly slower. Her eyes lingered longer than the words required. She was waiting for a reply she didn't want to ask for directly.

An invitation hidden behind humor. A test of sorts.

She was asking him to join her.

'Chivalry,' he thought.

It was something humans seemed to value, even if it had gone out of fashion in some circles. Viltrumites had no concept of it, not in the way humans did. Their women were warriors, many just as powerful as the men, some even more. Protecting them wasn't a matter of duty but necessity, sometimes mutual, sometimes brutal. There was respect in that. Not softness.

But here?

Here, in this dust-covered colony, among species that saw strength and gentleness as two sides of the same coin, perhaps that's what chivalry truly meant. An offered hand instead of a clenched fist.

Nolan adjusted his hold on the pamphlet, shifting his weight slightly.

"I'll try it now," he said simply, his voice even, but with an edge of intent. "If you're still hungry."

Hannah paused for a heartbeat, then smiled - more genuine this time. There was relief in it, though she hid it behind a playful smirk.

"Well," she said, turning with a flick of her head, "aren't you full of surprises."

She motioned for him to follow, casually folding her hands behind her back as she walked ahead through the worn roads and chatter-filled streets. Nolan followed, his posture relaxed but alert, eyes scanning the shifting crowd - quietly memorizing the paths he might be taking for a long time to come.

The farmhouse could wait.

This human had his attention... for now.

Notes:

I've been publishing this quickly, mainly because the first two chapters were already written on Fanfiction.net while I created the third just recently. This Authors Note doesn't hold much importance but to inform you that these updates won't be coming so fast on AO3 as they used to. Maybe once or twice a week or every other week from now on.

Anyways, leave me your thoughts! I'd appreciate fellow appreciators to conspire the what ifs on this fanfic.

(Chapter revised on 9/02/2025)

Chapter 4: This Is My Curse

Summary:

In the quiet shadow of the stars, a hidden warship takes the stage. A cryptic message is sent to a Viltrumite living among the humans. What follows is a story of slow transformation - of solitude giving way to connection, of secrets buried beneath domestic routines, and of two people quietly building something real amidst the weight of legacy.

Aboard the Vindication, Somewhere Between the Stars

 

A warship drifted in silence, cloaked in a sheath of refracted light that bent space around it like glass over still water. It's entirety, concealed to both the naked eye and detection systems. Inside its obsidian corridors, few dared raise their voice. And fewer ever saw the chamber at its heart.

Athena stood within it now.

Towering windows looked out across a nebula-streaked void, yet her eyes weren't on the stars. They were locked on a holographic display pulsing with layered data - relay activations, star charts, neural imprints, expedition logs, and a name she hadn't read in over a century: Charon Relay – 2149 CE.

She remained still, arms clasped behind her back, reading each line without blinking. The glow reflected across the silver of her gauntlets and the cruel cut of her cheekbones. Her armor bore the crest of Old Viltrum - worn, but never forgotten.

One line drew her attention longer than the others:

 

Primary access breach accelerated by human research team. Indications of hybrid cognitive tampering. Suspected half-blood: ID unknown, disappeared following scan review.

 

Athena's lips pressed into a faint line. Her second-in-command, Perseus, shifted uncomfortably beside her.

"Humanity's timing is accelerating beyond predictions. The harvest window nears, yet they grow bold." Perseus said, voice measured.

"They grow reckless," Athena corrected, tapping one finger on the display, freezing the image of the Charon Relay pulsing with energy. "And some among them are steering with Viltrumite blood."

She turned away from the display, finally, and strode toward her throne of black iron and crimson cloth. As she sat, the ship's VI hummed gently in deference.

"Prepare a message. To Nolan."

Perseus inclined his head. "Ready."

Athena dictated without hesitation:

"Acknowledged. Humanity's reach has extended beyond all our projections. If left to their own devices, their tampering may not only accelerate contact with the Citadel - but disrupt the delicate progress of our fertility remedy. For 3,000 years, we have been aligning their DNA with our own. Quietly. Precisely. You are to watch their ascent - but do not reveal yourself. Not yet. Let the disruption seem their own doing. Remain unseen, unheard. We are not ready for the stars to remember we walk among them. I will confer with High Command. Should the Reapers be stirred through their relay network, we may be forced to intervene - to shield them before they realize why. They must endure. Wait for my signal. — Athena."

The message was compressed, encrypted, and launched through the ghost network that only pure-bloods and their highest agents could access.

Athena sat in silence afterward, gazing out again into the stars. "So it begins again," she whispered to herself.

"Another cycle. Another flame."

---

Planet: Shanxi

Location: Shanxi-Theta Relay

Year: 2152

 

The encrypted message came through immediately. Nolan had excused himself quietly - temporarily, retreating to the restaurant's modest relief room.

Inside, he activated his omni-tool and skimmed the incoming transmission. Athena's tone was familiar: distant, imperial, laced with veiled warnings dressed as directives. She hadn't changed.

Her signature at the end - "They must endure. Wait for my signal." - felt more like hope than reassurance.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and quiet, then closed the omni-tool with a firm tap. No reply was needed. None would be sent.

He stood there for a moment longer, surrounded by silence and the creaking floor beneath him - a space not meant for someone like him. A cracked mirror above the sink caught his reflection, the same unchanging face worn for centuries. Lines of fading youth, eyes bred for war.

His jaw clenched. "Remain unseen, unheard."

He muttered the quote like a curse, jaw tight. Then, he straightened his posture, gathered the quiet fragments of himself, and stepped back into the world that didn't yet know what he was.

Hannah was waiting, seated in a corner booth with two empty bowls between them and warmth still in her smile. She looked up as he approached.

She didn't ask what the message was about. He didn't offer.

But for the rest of the evening, he let himself enjoy something he hadn't had in a long time - tasty food.

The curry had been good. Surprisingly good.

They now stood outside. Their bellies were full. Their curiosity, for now, appeased.

"Wait - your quarters are where?" Hannah blinked at Nolan, who had a confused expression and zero understanding of where his housing unit was.

"Sector 3, plot 47-G. That's what they told me."

"That's... across the atmospheric dome, near the terraformed ridge." She chuckled. "You really didn't ask for a map?"

"I got one, but it was... vague." he said, tilting his head, frustrated.

Hannah rolled her eyes, laughing. "Oh god. Despite being eye-candy, you're such a dad."

She gestured for him to follow. While she didn't know the exact coordinates, she knew more than enough to get a good idea on where to look. It took them no more than 30 minutes to find it. The farmhouse was fairly remote and away from close neighbors. A perfect fit.

"You're lucky I'm patient," she quipped.

Nolan, holding the map upside down, simply grunted.

---

Two Weeks after settlement

 

Hannah started showing up after shifts quite frequently. Now, she was here pretty much everyday. At first, she brought food - nothing fancy.

"You're always in dirt," she remarked one evening, finding him knee-deep in soil, worn gardening tools in hand. "Figured you could use something that wasn't cooked under a sunlamp or moisturized from a hydrator."

Nolan stood, brushing off the dust as she handed him a container. He took it without thanks - just opened it and started eating.

"You're welcome," she said dryly, rolling her eyes.

He grunted, acknowledged.

That was it.

And yet, it became routine. She'd arrive with something warm - soup, curry, sometimes just flatbread and fruit. She'd linger. Ten minutes became an hour. An hour would become three, and before they knew it, the stars began their slow rise over the ridge-line.

One of those quiet nights, as they sat on the porch in worn chairs, he broke the silence.

"You're still here," he said. Not quite a question.

"Yeah," she replied. "I guess I am."

He didn't tell her to leave.

And that confused him.

She wasn't a distraction anymore. Not even a curiosity. Just… a presence. Something constant on this quiet, desolate rock. Someone who spoke without demanding. Someone who stayed.

That, somehow, was the beginning.

---

One Month after settlement

 

Hannah leaned back against a fence post, arms folded, watching him move through the rows with that same uncanny precision. Always working. Always moving. He wasn't just dedicated - he was tireless. Mechanical. Like he didn't know how to stop.

She couldn't remember a single visit where he wasn't elbow-deep in soil or repairing something broken.

Still… she admired it. 'A hardworking man,' she mused. 'What more could a woman want?'

"You don't like me, do you?" The words left her mouth before she had a chance to reel them back.

Nolan looked up slowly, his hands still sunk in a pile of fertilizer.

"You're persistent."

She smirked, sensing something in his tone.

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either."

She bent down, grabbed a clump of dirt, and tossed it at him. It hit his shoulder with a soft thud. He didn't flinch.

But she could've sworn, for just a second, his lips curled.

---

Two and a Half Months after settlement

Year: 2153, Early February

 

The first frost had passed, but the soil was still stubborn, thick with winter's memory. Work on the farm didn't pause for seasons - it only changed shape. Lines had to be flushed, filters cleared of dirt and debris, rotations plotted once thawed. The land needed care, or it wouldn't give anything back.

Hannah had started helping more - not just casually, but with purpose. Irrigation lines. Filter maintenance. Crop rotations.

Work that caked under her nails and left her exhausted in ways military protocol never had.

Here, she wasn't Alliance. She wasn't even First Lieutenant Jansen.

She was just… Hannah.

And for the first time in years, that felt like enough.

Nearly a month ago, the local town had thrown a New Year's celebration. Lanterns lit the desert and snow covered biome in orange and gold. There was music, laughter, and alcohol strong enough to kill a monkey. Her friends from the garrison had invited her - twice - but she'd said no both times.

Instead, she found Nolan in the fields at dusk, tending the last of the rooted vegetables by torchlight, like the new year was nothing more than another night of work.

She brought him warm tea and sat with him while he sharpened old tools, not speaking much.

His silence was more comforting than the noise of fireworks.

Now, a few weeks later, she stood waist-deep in runoff water, holding a tangled coil of tubing as Nolan moved with calm, deliberate rhythm beside her.

The sun was pale overhead, slicing through the cold air in slanted beams. She watched him as he moved - shoulders tense, jaw steady, hands proficient as they adjusted flow gauges and re-secured ground anchors.

He moved with a kind of unspoken logic. A choreography born of routine and raw strength.

"You farm like a poet," she said after a while, half-laughing as she rubbed the back of her glove against her cheek. "Every motion is like it means something."

Nolan didn't look up from the irrigation valve he was tightening.

"It does," he said plainly. "To survive."

She blinked. The response was so him - brief, crisp, almost cold. But the way he said it... there was something honest there. Something raw and real.

She looked at him for a long moment, her breath misting in the winter air.

He didn't realize she was smiling at him for the rest of the day.

---

Three Months after settlement

 

The morning sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting soft golden stripes across the modest farmhouse interior. The air smelled faintly of fresh soil, wood polish, and the black coffee Nolan had brewed but barely touched.

He stood near the kitchen counter, towel slung over his shoulder, shirt damp from humidity outside. Another day of tending to the fields. Another day pretending this was all he wanted.

But something was different this morning.

His gaze drifted toward the door. Her boots - worn, dusty, military issue - sat neatly beside his own. Not thrown carelessly like a visitor's. Placed. As if they belonged there. Her duffel bag leaned against the wall under the coat hooks, half unzipped, contents familiar now: spare uniforms, worn sweaters, a cracked Alliance datapad with two unread messages blinking in soft blue. She was here, again.

In the bathroom, a second toothbrush sat beside his in the ceramic cup. Pale green. Hers.

She emerged from the hallway, yawning and tying her hair back, eyes still soft with sleep. She followed his gaze towards the entryway where he eye'd her belongings, and smirked.

"I've moved in, haven't I." she stated, pulling on a loose t-shirt she clearly borrowed from his pile.

Nolan didn't answer at first. He simply looked at her, really looked, then turned his attention back to the coffee mug in his hands. His voice was quiet when it came.

"Apparently."

She chuckled, stepping closer. "Well. You should've stopped me."

He met her eyes. "We both know you wouldn't have listened."

That made her laugh. Full and true. The sound filled the quiet homestead like sunlight.

She leaned against the counter beside him, watching him for a moment. He was unreadable as ever, that chiseled stillness of his face always concealing too much. But she knew now what to look for - the way his eyes lingered on her just a little longer than necessary. The way he didn't move away when she entered the room.

"You don't say much," she said softly.

"Don't need to," he replied.

She turned to face him fully, stepping into his space. He didn't step back.

Then, without another word, she kissed him.

It wasn't rushed. But testing, warm even.

He didn't resist.

He didn't kiss her like a soldier or a savage. Not like a Viltrumite above all things. He kissed her like someone who didn't know if he deserved this... but no longer wanted to question it.

When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his chest.

"I'm not leaving, you know," she whispered.

"I know," he said.

And for once, he wasn't pretending.

---

Seven Months after settlement

Year 2153: Mid July

 

They sat together beneath the sapphire sky, where stars twinkled across the heavens like an untold story. The chill of night crept into the rocks beneath them, but neither moved to leave. Silence had never been uncomfortable between them - not anymore. It had become a kind of language.

Hannah drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, gaze fixed somewhere between the stars and the dirt.

"I think I'm pregnant."

She said it plainly - no build-up, no tremor in her voice. Just four words suspended in the still air, heavy and cold like the early frost.

Nolan didn't move at first. His eyes stayed fixed on the distant horizon, the same one he always studied like it might eventually offer him an answer he didn't know how to ask for.

Then, slowly, he turned.

"That's... possible."

But in truth, it wasn't. Not easily. Not like this.

Inside, his mind reeled - not with panic, but with disbelief. The Scourge still clung to Viltrumite biology like rot in a dying root, hindering fertility even across hybrid pairings - though less frequent. For thousands of years, maybe longer, his people had tried.

Results had barely moved.

Humans had shown promise. Their genome aligned similar to their kind in ways that made scientists hopeful, but different all the same. Almost too coincidental. Like the galaxy had finally taken pity and handed them a golden ticket to solve their issues. There was something in them, something inconsistent, vital. Something his people needed if they were to persist.

And yet, this.

This had simply been flesh and heat and two lonely people reaching for something warmer than isolation. He hadn't expected anything more. He couldn't have. It would've taken much longer than this.

It was too soon.

Statistically improbable.

Practically impossible.

Was it a fluke? A genetic anomaly?

Or something else entirely?

No. He didn't know. And that concerned him more than he cared to admit.

Hannah looked over at him, reading his silence like she always did. "Not exactly the most romantic 'how do you feel about kids' conversation, huh?"

"I've had them before," he said quietly.

His voice gave nothing away, but his fingers had curled into the dirt.

"Yeah," she murmured. "So have I."

And there it was - John or Jane, maybe both, maybe none. Her scars. Her strength. Her reasons.

They sat quietly after that. Not in fear. Not in joy. Just still.

A cool breeze rustled their hair.

"I'm not asking anything of you," she said finally. "Not tonight. Just... I thought you should know."

He didn't answer. Not right away.

But after a long pause, he shifted slightly, brushing his hand - calloused, too strong for this world - against hers.

Not grabbing it. Not holding.

Just there.

Like her boots by the door, like her toothbrush in the cup...

 

...like her voice in the silence.

 

---

Eleven Months after settlement

Year: 2153, November

 

Nolan sat on the porch stairs with Hannah resting against him, a blanket draped over her shoulders and her hand gently curled over the small round of her belly. She was due in five months.

The weight of everything - fatherhood, facade, the fragile balance between lies and longing - pressed heavy on Nolan.

She spoke softly. "You don't talk much about yourself. Not really."

A beat of silence. Then another.

And then he said it.

"…Because what you think of me isn't true."

Hannah stiffened slightly. "What do you mean?"

Nolan looked out across the dark fields. They had once been the surface of a mission. A disguise. A necessary cover for a species on borrowed time.

And yet now, here they were. With rows of roots and grain. With cracked boots and shared meals. With a woman - this woman - carving herself into his days without effort or permission.

He exhaled through his nose.

Slow. Controlled.

"I came here to vanish," he said. "To wear the skin of something simpler. Something harmless. But you've seen through it. I never meant for anyone to get close enough to see."

"And now?" she asked.

He hesitated. He didn't want to lie. But he couldn't tell the truth either.

Not everything, not yet.

"…Now, I'm not sure it's all an act anymore."

His voice was low, conflicted, like he didn't fully believe himself. Somewhere deep, the viltrumite within him screamed about weakness. Attachment. Deviation from purpose. To a lesser species even.

Yet here he sat. With her. With this.

Hannah turned her head, meeting his gaze directly. Her voice didn't shake, but it pressed in - serious, edged with something raw.

"Then don't waste my time, Nolan. Don't act like this matters unless it does. I'm not asking you to change who you are. I'm just asking you to choose something real." She looked down at her stomach. "Someone real."

A long pause.

Then, almost clumsily, Nolan stood up. He walked a few paces into the field, running his fingers through his hair. When he turned back, his voice was quieter.

"Fine," he muttered. "Then… marry me."

Hannah blinked. "What?"

"I mean… that's what you want, right? That's what people (humans) do, marriage?"

His arms were at his sides like he wasn't sure where to put them. His expression was caught between confusion and subtle terror.

"You want something real? This is real!"

Her lips parted, stunned - and then she laughed. Not out of mockery, but surprise. A light, breathless sound that broke through the tension like dawn.

"You are so bad at this," she giggled, her hand pressing to her mouth. "That's your proposal?"

"I'm improvising," he grumbled. "You want flowers too?"

She stood, stepping into his space, eyes still warm with laughter but now soft with something deeper.

"No," she whispered. "I just wanted to know you're not going to disappear."

He didn't promise anything. Not aloud. But his hand came up slowly, settling over hers.

And it was enough.

"…Yes," she said. "I'll marry you, you idiot."

.

The following day, beneath the soft glow of Shanxi's morning sun, the two made their way to the small chapel nestled near the town center.

Hannah, in a simple dress and boots still dusted with soil, held onto her convictions with a quiet grace. Though her faith had bent in places - and perhaps broken in others - she still carried it.

The vows spoken that day weren't just ritual.

They were a choice. A promise. A beginning.

And when the ceremony ended, she walked out not as Lieutenant Jansen of the Alliance, nor as a woman still searching for something in the stars...

but as Hannah Shepard.

 

---

One Year and Two Months after settlement

Year: 2154, Late February

 

The wind howled across the frontier ridge, carrying with it the dry bites of incoming weather. The sky above Shanxi was beginning to bruise with dusk.

Hannah leaned on the porch railing, one hand gently bracing her lower back, the other cradling her stomach. Her breath fogged faintly in the cooling air, eyes locked ahead towards the distance.

"It's not safe here," she murmured, more to the wind than to Nolan. "You know it. Outlaws, storms, politics… this place is barely held together by hope alone. If something goes wrong during labor - if something happens to the baby..."

She trailed off, the thought catching in her throat.

Nolan stood behind her, palms rested against her shoulders, gaze fixed out toward the distant fields. He didn't respond at first. He never did when he was thinking too hard. The silence between them wasn't cold, just heavy.

"You want to leave?" he asked finally.

"I want our child to be born somewhere with actual doctors," she said, turning to him. "A place where gunfire isn't a lullaby. A place where we're not one missed shipment away from disaster. I don't need luxury... I just want safety. If not for me, then for the baby."

He inhaled slowly through his nose in thought. "We may not have time to reach any of the Earth-adjacent colonies. Not before she... or he comes."

She nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. "I know. Most of them are too far, even with Alliance transit. But…"

She paused, then looked up. "Arcturus Station."

He raised a brow.

"A fortress in orbit," she clarified. "It guards a relay that heads directly to Sol System - and a few other relays nearby. It's still under construction, but there's already a core established. Civilian wings are open. Med bays are functional. It's not perfect, but it has what we need - doctors, housing, protection."

She tilted her head slightly, her voice softening with a trace of optimism. "By the time it's finished, it'll look like a supersized version of a Stanford Torus. One of Earth's old NASA designs from the 20th century. Artificial gravity, modular sectors... ideal for families, primarily military."

She leaned against the railing again, casting him a sideways glance. A small, crooked grin tugged at her lips.

"You'll have to let go of this whole quiet farmer thing though," she added teasingly. "At least for a little while. No more brooding in the irrigation rows."

He snorted softly through his nose. "Shame. I was just getting good at pretending I liked it."

He considered her recommendation. It made sense. Too much sense. The only catch was access - Arcturus wasn't open to just anyone. Only high-clearance personnel or those with special authorization could step foot in the station during its development phase.

"It'll be hard to get in," he said.

She gave him a knowing smile. "Not if you pull some strings."

Nolan rolled his eyes at the implication. He didn't answer right away, but his expression was telling.

"I know who to call," he muttered. "He'll make it work."

She looked at him then - really looked at him - searching for doubt in his voice, in his eyes. There was none.

A soft chime buzzed from his omni-tool. He glanced down at the display.

 

Douglas Williams: Nolan, we need to talk.

 

Perfect timing.

Without hesitation, he tapped out a reply, ignoring Hannah's attempt to sneak a peek at the message. She discovered his use of this alien-like tech a few days after moving in, but never inquired beyond that.

 

Nolan: Yes, we do.

 

He sent the message and closed it out. Answering her the moment the display faded from view.

"Then we leave," he said, this time looking directly at her. "Wherever you go, I'll follow."

For the first time in days, the tension in her shoulders softened. Her hand drifted gently to her stomach.

And this time, they both looked forward.

---

The Following Day

 

The knock came just after dawn.

Not sharp, not rushed - just composed and intentional.

Hannah, still in her sleepwear and robe, furrowed her brow as she moved toward the door. The sun had barely risen, painting the fields outside in soft orange hues. Whoever it was, they weren't expecting the company. Not this early.

When she opened it, her surprise was immediate and barely concealed. General Douglas Williams, Commanding General of Shanxi's Garrison.

Hannah blinked. "General Williams?"

Williams offered a polite half-smile, his hands behind his back. "1st Lieutenant Shepard. I trust your maternity leave is going well."

The name still felt strange in her ears, but she nodded anyway, instinctively straightening her posture. "I... yes, it is. I just wasn't expecting to see the head of Shanxi's planetary defense on our front porch."

"I don't make many house calls," Williams admitted, voice low and even. "I was in the area and thought it best to stop in personally."

She hesitated, then offered a small smile in return. "You're always welcome, sir. Just - surprised. I didn't know you and Nolan were… close."

"We've had a few conversations," he said smoothly. "He's been helpful in ways most civilians wouldn't understand."

Before she could ask more, Nolan appeared behind her. Clothed, alert, and clearly expecting the visit.

"Morning, Douglas," he said, casually stepping up behind his wife. "Come in. We're just about to eat."

"Wouldn't mind a cup of that black sludge you call coffee," Williams replied dryly, stepping inside.

Hannah glanced at Nolan with a quiet look that said, 'You have to tell me more about this later', but didn't push. Instead, she slipped off to the kitchen, already preparing an extra mug.

"Transport to Arcturus is being arranged," Williams said, the information catching Hannah off guard.

"You're the one helping us?"

"Partially, but yes. Nolan is a good man, I owe him his favors."

His voice then dropped to a quiet timbre meant only for Nolan. "Your clearance request is still being configured. What you have now is unofficial. But it'll get you and her inside. Cecil will take care of the rest. He's already arranged immediate and direct transportation whenever you give the word."

Nolan gave a faint nod, just once. "Thank you."

"Not like I have much of a choice. Your value is much more important than mine," Williams replied. Then added, "She doesn't know, does she?"

Nolan glanced toward the kitchen, where Hannah was humming softly, pulling mugs from a cabinet. "No."

Williams said nothing at first. Just folded his arms and leaned against the chair. Waiting.

Hannah stepped in again, handing him a mug and offering a warm, grateful smile, Williams returned it without a flicker of suspicion.

"Thank you, Mrs. Shepard."

She gave a slight, bashful nod. "And thank you for everything you've done for my husband and I in our time of need. I know it's… odd, being here. But it means a lot. Not many commanding generals would pull strings for a backwater family."

"Oh no, it's always a pleasure. Your husband has a strange way of inspiring loyalty," Williams said with a grin that concealed the truth too easily.

Nolan rolled his eyes at the statement, clearly catching the bravado in it.

Moments later, Hannah excused herself to check on something in the field sensors - habit, or perhaps giving them space. Nolan had always been against her doing any form of labor this far into her pregnancy, but she didn't care what he thought. He couldn't stop her, not with words. So he let her be.

Williams waited until the door closed behind her.

Then he spoke plainly.

"I got a message the other day. High Command's pulling me out."

Nolan arched a brow. "You've been living among the humans for what - forty years?"

"A little over fifty." He corrected. "They're only giving me five more to wrap things up. But between you and me…" He trailed off, tone tightening. "They might try and cut that even shorter."

Nolan frowned slightly. "You've rotated before. You know the drill. You'll just get reassigned - blow through a few systems, maybe arranged to another alien colony."

"I know," Williams said quietly, voice heavier now. "In the last 1,500 years… this will be my fourth time."

Nolan's brow furrowed.

Williams didn't look at him, just stared through the window - empty, like he was seeing something else entirely.

"Every few centuries, I try to pretend. Start over. Marry again. Build something with someone who doesn't know what I am. And when it's time to go, I tell myself it'll be easy. That it's what we do. What we're meant to do."

He paused, swallowing hard.

"This time, it's not easy."

Nolan remained silent.

"I have a wife," Williams continued. "Her name is Cecilia. Good woman. Human, but resilient. By all odds, she bore me a son. He married a woman I've come to think of like my own daughter. They've given me two grandchildren."

His jaw clenched, and when he turned back to Nolan, his eyes weren't angry - they were tired. Haunted.

"I can't stay. High Command made that clear. Five years to disappear, maybe less if the wind shifts. And when I go, I can't say goodbye. Can't tell them the truth. I'll have to vanish. Again."

Nolan looked down at the floor understanding where this is going now. His voice - low. "And the part of you that's still human?"

"Breaks every time," Williams muttered. "And it doesn't grow back like Viltrumite flesh."

The silence between them stretched, full of weight and understanding of what's to come.

"I know what they'll tell me," Williams said. "That it's necessary. That attachment is a weakness. That we endure."

He scoffed.

"But what they never tell you is that living among the humans makes you remember the parts of yourself you buried. You stop thinking in centuries. You start living in seasons. In birthdays. In laughter. In moments."

He looked at Nolan now, really looked.

"And when the moment comes that you have to walk away from it - again - you don't feel like a warrior. You don't even feel like a ghost. You're just... gone."

Nolan didn't answer. He didn't have to. He didn't understand it, not completely - but something in him was beginning to.

His gaze shifted toward Hannah's' mug on the counter, steam rising slower now. Cooling.

Williams straightened slowly, never turning his way again. "So yes, you're right about one thing Nolan. This is my curse."

His voice shook - fractured.

"It's knowing that for the fourth time in my life, I am about to break something beautiful... again."

---

One Month Later

Arcturus Station – Civilian Medical Bay

 

The cold sterility of the medical wing was offset only by the warmth of human desperation.

Monitors beeped softly in the background, muffled by the sound of strained breathing and nurses' footsteps. The light overhead buzzed, casting a dull glow across Hannah's sweat-lined face as she leaned forward, clenching the sheets in one hand, and Nolan's in the other.

"Push!" the doctor instructed, steady and calm despite the urgency.

Hannah screamed, her voice half-laced with pain, half with defiance. Nolan sat beside her, motionless as stone, his free hand cradled in hers. Her grip was punishing, crushing, but he didn't flinch. Not once. He could've broken steel. But in this moment, he was hers - utterly, wholly.

"One more," the doctor urged.

Hannah bore down, drawing from a place deeper than exhaustion.

And then - relief.

A sudden cry filled the room, shrill and bright and alive.

The infant was swept away quickly for cleaning, weighed, wrapped in the standard blue hospital cloth, and returned into Hannah's outstretched arms. Her eyes brimmed with tears, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. But her smile broke through all of it, radiant and real.

"It's a boy…" she whispered, voice trembling.

Nolan leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning the tiny face nestled against Hannah's chest. He didn't speak.

The baby cooed, faint and new to the world.

Hannah traced a finger along his cheek. "John," she said, the name felt like a blessing. "John Shepard."

Nolan stared.

Not at the baby - but at Hannah. At what she just endured. At what she created. At the weight she carried willingly, without hesitation.

He should've felt joy. He should've felt pride.

A legacy made flesh, but something else stirred in his chest.

Something tangled and uncertain.

He looked away, toward the glass wall of the delivery room that overlooked the station's inner ring. Beyond that… Earth's light danced in the stars thousands of light years away.

Who are you?

A Viltrumite? A Husband? A Father?

He felt lost

Split.

Hannah looked up at him, tired but glowing.

"You okay?" she asked, brushing her thumb gently over his knuckles.

Nolan gave her a small nod. "Yeah," he lied.

His voice was far away.

Elsewhere.

And his thoughts? His thoughts drifted - back to Shanxi, back to Douglas Williams' quiet confession beneath the farmhouse light

 

"This is my curse."

 

For just a moment, he began to understand the meaning behind those words.

Notes:

Oof, I poured a little off my chest there. Hope I didn't hurt anyone too bad. Let me know your thoughts, and thank you all for your interest.

Ciao!

~TheLivingMyth

(This Chapter was 'very subtely' reviewed and corrected 9/3/2025)

Chapter 5: Something Worth Protecting

Summary:

On the edge of a still-growing station, quiet moments between new arrivals unfold beneath a vast view of the stars. Far above, unseen powers measure the weight of their decisions, each choice echoing beyond the lives before them. In the hush between worlds, the course of destiny begins to take shape.

Arcturus Station

Year: 2155 CE - April

One Year After John's Birth

The observatory was quiet - high above the station's main ring, draped in reinforced glass and humming with faint atmospheric controls. It offered an extensive view of the black beyond, interrupted only by streaks of orbital scaffolds and the slow rotation of construction drones chained like steel barnacles to the station.

Hannah sat near the edge of the windowed dome, a thermal blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her arms gently curled around a dozing John. He was heavier now, warm and limp in her hold, lips parted in the slack, innocent peace only infants could afford. His dark hair had grown fuller. His breathing, soft and rhythmic, matched the pulse of his mother's heartbeat.

Beside her, on the bench molded into the station's curved wall, sat another woman - pale-skinned, dark brown hair tied into a loose bun, freckles barely visible under the cool lighting. Her hands were far more delicate with her own newborn, swaddled in triple layers despite the climate control. The baby's legs were thin, posture tense even in sleep.

"He hates being still," the woman murmured, her voice edged with fatigue and something fainter - worry. "Even this young, he just… twitches. Like he's trying to outrun gravity."

Hannah smiled faintly, adjusting her grip on John so his head rested higher against her chest. "John didn't like stillness either. First month, I thought I was raising a storm cloud with legs."

The other woman gave a dry chuckle. "I'd trade you. This little guy? He's got bones like sugar glass. I sneeze, he flinches. One wrong bump, and I'm in the med-bay with another lecture."

She looked down at her son again, eyes softening. "They're calling it brittle bone disease, but none of the docs can agree how early it set in. Or how bad it'll get."

Hannah glanced at the boy with gentle curiosity. "What's his name again?"

"Jeff. Jeff Moreau."

"Nice name," Hannah said, rocking John slowly. "Yours?"

"Erin. Erin Moreau. Civil engineer - well, contractor. Earthborn, Philly. I signed on to help finish the civilian deck's load-bearing arcs. Figured it'd be two years max, good money, high-clearance resume built." She smiled thinly. "Didn't expect to be raising a kid in orbit."

Hannah gave a knowing look. "Funny how plans change."

"Yeah," Erin said softly, brushing a thumb over Jeff's brow. "Three months in, I found out I was pregnant. Didn't even see it coming. Thought the fatigue was from the shifts, or low-gravity vertigo, or the synthetic coffee being garbage."

Hannah gave her a surprised look. "You didn't know?"

Erin shrugged, still watching Jeff. "Didn't feel like a movie pregnancy, if that makes sense. No big signs, no glow. Just a lot of headaches and stress. Then one day I collapsed in Bay 6 and woke up in med with a heartbeat that wasn't mine."

She leaned back slightly, adjusting Jeff's blanket with practiced care. "He's not even three months old yet. Came early, too. Fragile little thing, but stubborn as hell. He fights the med-bay nurses every time they try to run a scan."

Hannah's brow softened. "And you stayed."

"I mean, what else was I gonna do? They bumped me to light duty, gave me a good climate control room, and just like that - boom. we got a station-born baby. I guess Jeff beat the station's first hospital wing by a week." She smiled faintly. "Not exactly the plan, but… he's here. I'm here."

She glanced at Hannah. "Ya know, I got here about a month after you gave birth. Once this happened, word got around pretty fast that there was another mom with a child on base."

"You looked me up?" Hannah asked, amused.

Erin shrugged. "Not many of us floating around out here with infants. The station's barely got enough pediatric staff to fill a break room. I figured if we were both stuck on this half-built tin can, we might as well talk."

A pause, letting everything that just came out settle, and then...

"You adjusting okay?" Erin asked.

Hannah tilted her head, thinking. "Some days it feels like home. Other days… just a long waiting room with prettier windows."

Erin nodded. "Yeah. That about sums it up."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the stars stretch across the dome like whispered constellations. Below them, the central spine of Arcturus lit up faintly as power cycles rotated, casting a soft glow across the dome's interior.

"Do you think this place will ever feel like Earth?" Erin asked suddenly.

"No," Hannah softly spoke. "But maybe that's not the point."

Erin looked at her.

"Maybe the point is that it feels… possible."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just full. The kind of silence that settled between two people who had seen enough in life to know that not every question needed an answer right away.

The stars outside moved slowly, or perhaps the station did. Either way, it gave the illusion of stillness, like they were inside a snow globe suspended over the universe.

Erin let out a long breath and glanced sideways at Hannah. "I hope they grow up to be good friends, y'know? Jeff and John."

Hannah looked at her, head tilted, wondering.

Erin smiled softly. "On a place like this? They might be the only kids within thousands of light years of each other."

Hannah's eyes dropped to her son's peaceful face. His tiny fingers had curled around the collar of her shirt. "Yeah," she murmured. "They might be."

Erin adjusted Jeff's swaddle again, moving slowly. "Guess it'll be a while before either of us decides to up and leave."

"No," Hannah disagreed quietly. "It will."

Erin didn't ask where she'd go. She didn't need to. It was written in Hannah's eyes: She didn't know. And maybe that was okay.

For now… this was enough.

They both sat there a moment longer - two women, two children, and a field of distant suns above them.

And somewhere far below, the steel bones of the station groaned and hummed, still growing.

---

Elsewhere on Arcturus Station

Upper Habitat Ring - Support Sector

Nolan stood at the edge of a pressurized scaffold, plasma torch humming low in his hand. Sparks arced around his boots as a nearby welder finished fusing a support strut into the curve of the bulkhead spine.

Even this high up - exposed to vacuum just beyond the hull - the air was heavy with heat, metal dust, and the smell of burnt synthetic polymer.

"Hey, uh… can you hold that bracket steady?"

Nolan glanced toward the voice - one of the civilian techs, outfitted in a grease-smeared jumpsuit and worn boots. His badge read H. Vasquez, Civil Systems. Nolan gave a silent nod, stepped forward, and guided the hanging steel beam, holding it in place once it aligned.

His presence among the construction crew had gone mostly unquestioned over the last year. Most assumed he was ex-military or a deep-cleared contractor, the kind of quiet, capable type who didn't speak unless spoken to. He never gave his full name, and no one pushed for it. He worked hard. Never tired. Never complained.

In truth, Nolan had taken to the work for one reason: it gave him something to do.

Something physical. Routine. Grounded.

He had helped shape part of the outer ring's hull, reinforced inner support frames, and even rerouted gravity-core systems with a team of engineers who marveled at his stamina but never questioned his silence. In a place full of noise and forward motion, Nolan preferred the anonymity of sweat and steel. Other than Hannah, it was all he had left outside of the non-existent realm of agriculture production.

Then came the beep.

A sharp, single chirp from his Omni-Tool - quiet, but distinct enough to break his focus.

Nolan paused. He made a subtle motion, glancing around to ensure no one nearby had noticed. The crew was busy - focused on welds, beams, calibrations. No one paid him much attention.

Good.

He descended a maintenance ladder slowly, deliberately, until he reached a shadowed edge between sealed panels.

He brought up his wrist. The Omni-Tool flickered to life in a narrow display.

Message Received.
[PRIORITY] / High Command / Encrypted Burst Transmission
Sender: ATHENA

That made him pause.

This wasn't the usual traffic. Not the monthly status packet request in summarizing human development, power growth, and weapons tracking. This wasn't routine.

He accepted the encryption key. The message decrypted with a quiet pulse, and he read it...

It was a summons.

Athena needed him, and this time, it wasn't about watching from afar.

The message dissolved the moment he finished reading it - standard protocol for High Command.

But then, before Nolan could power down his Omni-Tool, another signal pinged across the interface.

 

[PRIORITY] / Vindication-Based / Encrypted Secondary Packet

Sender: ATHENA

 

This time, there was no preamble. No embedded briefing. Just a line of text - precise, clinical, and unmistakably hers:

 

The Vindication is now in your sector. Your presence is required immediately

 

Attached were coordinates - barely a few hundred kilometers from Arcturus Station's outermost construction ring. Not close enough to raise human attention. Not far enough to suggest distance. Just outside the boundary of their world. Exactly where it needed to be.

Nolan looked up, past the ribbed ceiling of the corridor.

He knew what that meant.

The Vindication had activated its stealth systems - ancient Viltrumite camouflage technology, generations ahead of even the most bleeding-edge Council sensors. No human radar would see it. No automated defense grid would question the void.

To anyone else, there was nothing there.

But Nolan wasn't anyone else.

He closed his eyes briefly, reaching out with a sensitivity bred into his species - focusing beyond the hull, beyond the stars. And when he opened them, just for a moment, he saw it.

A ripple. A shimmer.

Like the faint glint of glass warped in heat - the outline of a ship, vast and coiled in patience, suspended in orbit.

The Vindication had come.

He lowered his wrist, sealing the interface, and stepped back into the shadows.

The corridor remained empty as Nolan moved. No one followed. No one did. He knew the station's shift schedule better than most of the human officers did by now - where the patrols cycled, which airlocks remained under maintenance, and which cameras had buffered long enough to offer a clean exit.

He slipped through a half-lit corridor leading to Docking Ring C, a zone still under construction. Cargo crates and half-installed conduits lined the walls. The airlock there wasn't yet fully linked into the command security net, making it perfect for quiet departures.

He keyed open the hatch.

The moment the outer lock cycled and the pressure dropped, Nolan stepped forward into space.

No suit. No rope.

Just him.

The void welcomed him like an old friend.

For a moment, Arcturus Station loomed behind him - vast and skeletal, ringed in construction lights like a pearl being polished in orbit. Then, with a burst of controlled momentum, Nolan turned and propelled himself forward, leaving the station behind.

---

Moments Later

 

Nolan headed in the pinged direction. The faint outline of the Vindication hung just beyond the boundaries of naked detection. Its hull curved like obsidian glass, folding light around itself. If he hadn't known exactly what to look for, even he might have missed it.

But he was Viltrumite.

And this was a Viltrumite warship.

The atmospheric separator bay was already open - a silent mouth waiting for him.

A second later, he entered the shimmering veil, passing through the stealth barrier with a rush of displaced air. The inside of the bay flickered to life in response, pressure stabilizing around him as he touched down on the polished black flooring without a sound. Behind him, the separator sealed shut.

Dim corridors stretched into shadowed depths, lit only by faint crimson lines along the walls. Familiar. Intentionally minimal. Built not for comfort, but for precision.

He walked with purpose, though his eyes scanned more than his feet guided him. It had been years since he last set foot aboard this ship - Athena's personal blade, her war vessel of choice, and one of the few remaining relics of their people's once-vast fleet. It hadn't aged a day.

The doors to the ships command bridge hissed open as he approached. No guards. No clearance check. His presence alone was identification enough.

A figure stood near the projection table - tall, broad-shouldered, black hair, and a sharp-lined face that could have been carved from stone. Perseus, a half-blood Athena had picked up from Earth during the Greek era.

He turned the moment Nolan entered, offering a subtle nod that was more military than welcoming.

"Nolan, you've made it in time."

Nolan returned the nod, his posture easy but aware.

"Didn't want to keep her waiting."

Perseus stepped aside, folding his arms behind his back, gesturing him forward

"She's expecting you. But... I imagine you already knew that."

With nothing more needing to be said, Nolan continued on toward the command chamber just beyond the bridge. The air grew still as he approached the inner sanctum, the door beyond responding to his presence with a slow, steady hiss.

She was waiting.

He entered the room. Standing on the central platform was none other than the one who had summoned him.

Athena

She stood with her back to him, arms clasped behind her. White and gold armor glistened beneath the stars, unmoved by the stale, recycled air. Her appearance had barely changed - rigid, majestic, as though time dared not touch her.

But her voice carried weight. It always had.

"Nearly a century," She said softly, without turning. "Since we last spoke like this, face to face."

"Rotations, assignments, conflict," He said, not quite apologetic, but understanding. "They always found a way to keep us busy."

Athena turned then, slowly. She looked at him the way one might observe a monument left standing in defiance of history.

"A century of distance. And yet, in the last year alone... I've heard more from you than in all those decades before." She approached, offering a gentle smile. "It's... good to see you old friend."

There was a pause. Not awkward. Not strained. But it felt… hesitant. As if something unspoken were trying to surface.

"You've never told me... about the boy." She added, quieter now.

"I didn't think I'd need to. Reports should've been enough."

"No, but... never mind. It does not matter."

Athena's expression shifted, her edge softening just slightly as she stepped toward the center of the chamber, the sensors at her feet pulsing faintly under her command as if waiting to be brought alive.

"You're not here because of a threat," She began. "Not directly at least."

Nolan lifted a brow, lightly. "Then why?"

"High Command has assembled. Moments from now, we'll be addressing them via holo-projection."

That landed with weight - even for him

Athena continued, tone precise and sharp.

"A full assembly. All surviving figureheads. Some of the oldest pure-blooded among us. I need not remind you that each one was handpicked by the Empress herself - though she won't be in attendance."

Nolan rolled his eyes at the mention of Empress. "You know Mother doesn't like being called that."

Mother - not in direct biology, but in image. A living myth. She had existed long before any Viltrumite still alive could remember, and far longer than anyone dared to question.

"It does not matter how she views herself," Athena replied. "She is what our legacy tells us."

"And me?" Nolan folded his arms. "Where do I fit in this."

"Part of the meeting concerns the fate of humanity, and your situation makes you uniquely valuable." She drew closer. "Of all who still breathe the pure air of our ancestors, only you - undiluted - have lived among the humans. Walked with them. Fought with them. Fathered one of them."

"I fail to see how that makes me special," Nolan said. "Any pure-blood can conceive with humans. I'm not the only one."

Athena stepped closer, a little too close for comfort

"This isn't just protocol, Nolan," she said, more quietly now. "It's a measure of trust. Like it or not, there's still bad blood circling you after what happened with Baldur."

He stiffened slightly. "That was over a thousand years ago."

"He was one of our youngest," she said. "Younger than you. There was still so much he could've done for our cause."

"I thought we'd moved past that."

"Not all of us can let go of the past so easily," she replied. "Call it a part of our stubborn and persistent nature, if you must."

A ping resonated softly around the room. The meeting was about to begin.

"Nolan," Athena spoke one last time. "Please, be wary of your words."

The circular chamber dimmed.

Lines of energy pulsed outward from the central console, drawings of glyphs and sigils that seemed more real than programmed came alive. The air grew dense, as if bracing for the presence of gods.

Then, they appeared.

One by one, pillars of light took form - towering figures in full stature. Even as projections, their presence distorted the room. Mythic. Ancient. Overwhelming.

Nolan didn't bow. He didn't need to. He knew them all.

Zeus materialized first - shirtless beneath a light layer of golden armor, his white beard thick as thunderclouds, his eyes glowing with storms held in check.

"Hmph," He grumbled. "So the wayward child finally answers a summon. Or have you lived too long among the humans to remember how to stand in our presence?"

Jupiter, near-identical to Zeus, but colder. Imposing. His red ceremonial draping flowed over war-forged armor, pristine and untouched by time.

"Zeus," Jupiter said evenly. "Save the theatrics. Nolan has arrived, and that is what matters. Though… your appearance here, Nolan, is a curiosity. You were not summoned. And yet, you came."

Ra, his golden form radiant, levitating slightly above the floor. His eyes burned like twin suns, ancient and all-seeing.

"He came because she allowed it," Ra said, turning his gaze toward Athena. "And that itself is enough. His blood remains pure. Whatever transgressions lie behind him — he still carries our mark."

Then came Odin. A weathered gray cloak swept behind him, etched with old Viltrumite glyphs. One eye glowed with silver fire. The other was long gone, sacrificed.

"Even so, a man who had betrayed a brother in legacy," Odin spoke, his voice deep and distant, as if pulled from beneath a great tree. "We judged, long after the blood dried. Forgiveness is not amnesia. The scar remains, even if the wound has closed."

He studied Nolan, gaze measured.

"Time doesn't cleanse consequence. Only character does."

Nolan met his gaze without flinching. "I don't intend to falter."

Then, the air changed.

Thragg appeared last - younger in appearance, but older than most. Where the others rose from legends, he was sharpened by steel. No ornaments. Just the red and white Viltrumite uniform, battle-worn and proud.

"Enough," Thragg cut in, eyes narrowing at Odin. "This isn't a tribunal. Nolan's here for insight, not a confession."

He looked at Nolan with an impatient glare.

"The Empress wants insight, Nolan. And so do us. So speak plainly."

Athena stepped forward, subtly bridging the tension. Her voice projected, calm - but iron beneath silk.

"There are two matters at hand, Nolan. First - Humanity. In just the past few decades alone, they've leapt light years ahead of their time. They're no longer primitive by Reaper standards. Which raises the question - do we cultivate them? Control them? Or let them die?"

Nolan frowned, his fingers twitched while discipline fought his urges to tighten his fists.

"Where is this coming from?"

Athena tapped a command into the projection console. A galactic star-map emerged - mass relays, dormant sectors, dark systems flickered to life in a constellation of coded patterns.

"Through very recent and unforeseen calculations. Based on the last two Reaper cycles and recorded fragments of when they first encountered our kind, the invasion should've begun around two to three hundred years ago."

A quiet murmur rippled among High Command.

Athena continued, voice steady.

"They are late. Not by years - but generations. Every hidden marker across the galaxy, from dormant relays to unopened systems along with the start of both Inusannon and Prothean extinctions. It all holds the same weight. The Reapers were due… and yet, nothing."

She turned, eyes sweeping across the gathered projections..

"This cycle is now unpredictable. No one knows when they'll strike. The Empress has known. We have known. And we're not without theories…"

Her gaze sharpened, landing back on Nolan.

"…which is why you're more than just an envoy. You've embedded yourself in a species that, by all precedent, should have been crowned the galaxies newest successors. And yet… here we are. No Reapers. No harvest. Just silence."

She folded her arms.

"Either something has disrupted them… or someone. And if that's true, we must ask: is it wise to stake our future on humans? Or foolish?"

A wave of discontent stirred.

Zeus scoffed, arms raised in emphasis. "They are chaos given flesh. Clever, yes. But self-sabotaging. They chase power, yet recoil from it. They preach peace, but worship war."

Ra added, voice distant. "They build monuments to their dreams… and burn them when they disagree."

Jupiters gaze hardened. "A dangerous paradox. But sometimes, that is what survival demands."

Thragg finally addressed Nolan directly again. "You've seen them grow, Nolan. And I don't mean in just infrastructure alone. Tell us."

The air came to a brief silence. All eyes locked onto the man who would most certainly decide the outcome of a species unaware of its fate. They watched, expecting what they always had.

"...I do."

And that, wasn't it.

Athena faltered ever so slightly, lips tightening - but she said nothing.

Odin raised a brow. "You do?" The disbelief in his voice was undeniable.

"I do." Nolan repeated, louder this time, yet maintaining respect. "They're more valuable alive than dead. You all know it. Their genetics could restore our fertility. They are the key to our survival. They must be preserved. The Empire would be saved!"

"Or the blade that severs it!" Odin snapped. "You would gamble the future of our bloodline for a chance at reinvention?"

"If we don't try, we're already dead!"

"You don't know what that gamble costs!"

"Which is why we must act now - before the choice is taken from us!"

"ENOUGH!" Zeus thundered. Despite being a mere projection, his voice quaked the very chamber they're in.

Silence followed.

Zeus's gaze lingered on Nolan - half scorn, half reluctant respect.

"Nolan's view stands. And while I disagree, the Empress will not ignore it. We will not reveal ourselves - not yet. If the Reapers come… we watch. We do not interfere."

He hesitated.

"But… arrangements may be made. Quietly. Preservation of a few, but not salvation."

Odin grumbled. "We should reject this."

Thragg crossed his arms. "It matters little. The Empress will override any dissent once the results of this meeting arise. She's always had a soft spot for the younger generations."

With that, Thragg's projection vanished, offering no farewell. One by one, the others followed - until only Zeus remained.

He grimaced lightly. "I hope you know what you're doing, Nolan. For your sake, and ours."

And then he too was gone.

Only Athena and Nolan remained, standing beneath the soft flicker of the dying holograms - alone, save for the weight of the future.

Athena stood with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor as if searching for the words there. Nolan could feel her scrutiny even before she raised her head.

"You held your ground well," she said finally, though the faint edge in her tone made it sound less like praise and more like accusation. "Too well."

Nolan's brow furrowed. "Meaning?"

"You didn't just defend humanity, Nolan - you leveraged them. Fertility, genetic vigor… you made them sound like breeding stock." She stepped closer, her voice quieter now, searching. "High Command may see that as pragmatic, but I know you. You're not just angling for population growth."

He gave a shrug that was too casual to be natural. "It was the argument they'd listen to."

"That's not all it was." Her eyes narrowed, sharp enough to cut through the evasive tone. "Almost everything about you has… shifted. The moment you stepped onto my ship, I saw it. The way you carry yourself. The way you hold your breath before you speak. Something's different, and it's not just the years. There's something you're not saying. Something you won't say."

Nolan didn't answer right away. His gaze slid past her toward the vast observation glass, where Arcturus Station hung suspended against the ocean of stars - its unfinished hull glinting faintly in the void.

"If I told you, Athena, it wouldn't change High Command's mind," he said finally, his voice low enough that the hum of the ship nearly swallowed it. "And it might put you in a place you don't want to stand."

She moved, stepping deliberately into his line of sight until the stars were blocked out and there was nowhere left for him to look but at her.

"Only if things go wrong," she countered, her tone quiet but unflinching. "But if you're holding something back, something that could shift what's at stake, then you're walking into their judgment alone. And I won't watch you get lost to them-" her eyes hardened, "-or to whatever final decision they have waiting for you."

His eyes drifted again, unable - perhaps unwilling - to meet hers. Words tangled in his throat. He didn't have the whole answer yet, perhaps he'd yet to understand it fully. But he would not allow the fate of the Galaxy to crush what he built. What they built.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, carrying the weight of something long unspoken.

"Do you believe it? That humans are unworthy?"

A stillness settled between them, the kind that made the air feel heavier.

Athena's answer came quiet but certain. "With everything I've seen during my time on Earth, humans didn't seem to be worthy of anything."

He scoffed under his breath, almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it.

"You know, Athena… I can only remember fragments of my childhood." He swallowed, but his voice stayed coarse, edged with something unshakable. "But what I saw - what I felt - the goodness layered beneath…"

He looked at her then, truly looked. And in that gaze, Athena realized she couldn't remember the last time he had looked at her this way. Perhaps he never had.

"I saw a capacity for hope. For love. Athena, there is something within us… within them. Something special in humans. Sacred, even."

He turned toward the exit, his voice trailing, but his steps carried a new weight - softer, deliberate purpose.

"Something worth protecting."

Athena watched him go, her eyes softening, her chest tightening with an unfamiliar pull and a desire to understand. Her gaze drifted back toward the void, toward Arcturus - where she knew he would go.

Back to her.

Back to them.

Notes:

Alright! Bonus points to whomever can find the reference. I hope you all enjoyed this. After the last chapter, this one feels... poor when compared to it. But I am satisfied with it in the end. I hope you all find it equally as satisfying for the time being as I have.

Let me know your thoughts if you would. Any inquiry would be appreciated.

Ciao!

TheLivingMyth

Chapter 6: First Contact: Strangers Among the Stars

Summary:

Humanity’s first meeting among the stars is both wondrous and unsettling, a moment balanced between hope and unease. Beneath the excitement lies the echo of deeper truths, as if the galaxy itself were waiting to reveal its secrets. It is a beginning marked by awe - and shadowed by the mysteries yet to come.

Year: 2157 CE - February

Location: Classified

Position: Aboard the Vindication

The Vindication drifted in the void, a silent predator cloaked in refracted light. In its war room, Athena stood beside Perseus, the holo-projection of Shanxi's surface painting their faces in muted amber.

General Douglas Williams' voice carried through the comm, measured but edged with urgency.

"The Shanxi-Theta relay is active. Civilian survey crafts are already in Turian patrolled space. And…" His pause was deliberate - damning even. "…Relay 314 has been cataloged by human survey teams. We both know what comes next."

Athena's jaw tightened. It had been almost two years since she'd last seen Nolan. Two years since he fooled High Command and told her there was more to humanity than what meets the eye. His words haunted her now, refusing to fade like they should have. She had witnessed enough of human flaws to doubt their place in the stars… yet enough of their defiance to wonder.

She pulled up a live galactic chart, narrowing in on Relay 314. Dozens of systems lit up in pale blue, but only one marker pulsed close enough for an interception before Turian contact. She opened a secure channel and sent the coordinates to a trusted - if controversial - agent. The species was far from ideal, politically isolated, but it was the only hand she could play without breaking her orders.

The message sent, Athena closed the channel and let the war room fall back into silence. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass, uncertain and unyielding all at once.

"Damn you, Nolan," she muttered under her breath, hating him for planting the seed she couldn't quite uproot.

---

Elsewhere

Location: Scout Vessel - Tala'Sei

Position: Outskirts of the Attican Traverse

The Tala'Sei cut silently through the dark, its narrow frame a speck against the stars. A small scout ship by design, it carried just enough crew to operate at efficiency, no more, no less. Space was too dangerous and costly for excess.

At the helm sat Captain Rael'Zorah vas Tala'Sei, gloved hands resting loosely on the control console. His visor reflected the ghostly blue glow of the galaxy map, one marker pulsing faintly ahead of the coordinates that mattered.

It was not the Fleet he had intercepted these coordinates from, but something else entirely. Something he abruptly picked up on his journey.

"Captain," came a voice from the port-side station. "This course isn't on the survey list. We were supposed to be heading for the Prospero Belt."

Rael's gaze didn't waver from the map. "Change of plans. The Admiralty Board sent a redirect."

The comms officer frowned beneath his helmet. "We just got the last orders two cycles ago. Now they want us to break off?"

"Turian patrols are sweeping this region," Rael replied, his tone flat, authoritative. "The Fleet wants us steering clear until they pass through. Until then, we run scans along the new vector."

That seemed to settle the matter for most of them. The crew had learned not to question command decisions too deeply; the Migrant Fleet's survival depended on obedience. Still, Rael could feel the lingering stares. Quarians didn't waste fuel on detours without reason.

"Maintain course and keep our scans passive," Rael ordered. "We're still here to do our job. If we stumble across a rich deposit, I'll have you all fighting over who gets the credit."

A few chuckles broke the tension, but the curiosity lingered. On the bridge's forward display, a starfield gave way to a faint, pale dot - their new heading.

Rael's eyes lingered on it a moment longer than they should have.

They continued their drift through the void while its sensor arrays were sweeping arcs of an electromagnetic pulse. For days, only the familiar static hum of deep space returned to them - until the console at the forward pit chimed an alert.

"Captain," a young sensor officer called, his voice muffled slightly by the helmet filters, "I've got… something. Narrow-band EM spike, faint but sustained. No matching profile in the Fleet registry."

Another officer leaned over his station. "Could be another pirate hauler. Maybe an old Batarian signal bleed?"

Rael didn't move from the command chair, but his gaze was fixed on the shifting lines across his private holo-display. He didn't need Fleet databases to tell him what this was. The frequency curve was too clean, the modulation too precise. It was different, alien even - but new.

His fingers flexed against the armrest before he spoke. "Bring us about. Match velocity to its sector - but, keep us well outside visual range."

A murmur passed through the crew pit. "Captain, if this isn't on our charts, protocol says we flag it and call the nearest patrol-"

"We're not calling anyone," Rael cut in, his tone controlled but final. "The Admiralty Board gave me standing orders to investigate anomalies personally. Could be a salvage lead. Could be nothing. Either way, I'll have eyes on it before the Turians do."

He leaned forward, keying a quiet transmission into his armrest - an encrypted line no one on the bridge could access. The signal was only three words long, sent across a spectrum even the brightest of minds couldn't crack unless the answer was given.

Another day or so passed while the scout-vessel continued its glide through the void, sensors following the faint electromagnetic pulse that had peaked their curiosity. The closer they drew, the more the signal resolved - until the flicker of hulls against the starlight appeared on the forward display. Others took to the flight deck to try and catch a view outside, eyes widening at the sight unfolding before them.

A small patrol of alien ships drifted just beyond the reach of an ancient, dormant mass relay. Its massive frame cold and inert, a forgotten relic from a long-lost era.

The ships were unlike anything the Quarians had ever catalogued. Not as militaristic and angular as the Turians, nor as graceful and fluid as the Asari. They lacked the refined sci-fi aesthetic typical of Salarian vessels, and they were certainly less bulky and rugged than Krogan warships. Instead, their design appeared a curious blend - somewhere between Turian lethality and Asari elegance, a form that suggested speed, adaptability, and strength, it was intimidating.

Whispers spread among the crew. This was unknown to them, a mystery that sent ripples of excitement and curiosity through the ship's corridors.

"Keelah… what are we looking at?" muttered Tolan'Vas, one of the sensor officers, his gloved fingers dancing across the console. "They're… nothing like I've seen. Not even in the old Council archives."

"They're not Turian," another voice said from the port-side station. "Not Asari either - no elegant curvature. Not Salarian. Not even close."

One of the junior engineers leaned forward. "Could they be pirates? An independent design?"

Rael shook his head slowly. "No. These ships carry uniform markings. Consistent hull patterns. Whoever they are, they're organized… disciplined."

The weight of the realization spread across the bridge. This wasn't just an encounter with another scavenger crew or backwater settlement. This was a race - unknown to the wider galaxy - sitting quietly beside a dormant relay, far inside Turian space.

Raels gaze remained steady as he addressed the crew. "Prepare a First Contact Package," he ordered firmly.

There was an audible shift in the room - chairs squeaked, instruments hummed as systems were brought online. A few exchanged uncertain glances.

"Sir," Tolan ventured, "we're deep inside Turian-patrolled space. And we're no longer official representatives of the Council races - haven't been for a long time. Is this really our place?"

Rael's eyes sharpened. "We are not here on behalf of the Council. We are Quarian. We answer to the Migrant Fleet. And the Migrant Fleet's laws are clear: discovery of an uncontacted species demands we offer peaceful communication before anything else."

"But if the Turians catch wind-" another began.

Rael's tone hardened. "Then they will have to speak to me directly."

The crew fell silent, the weight of their mission settling over them like the cold vacuum outside.

The unknown fleet waited. The dormant relay hung like a shadowed sentinel behind the strangers, as if watching the moment unfold.

---

Location: SSV Resolute, 1st Expeditionary Fleet

Position: Outer Perimeter, Relay 314

Hannah Shepard leaned back slightly in her chair, boots braced against the faint, constant hum of the ship's drives. Her thoughts weren't on the relay ahead, or Humanity's slow crawl across the stars. They weren't even on the mission's tight schedule, no.

They were back at Arcturus Station.

Her husband's easy laugh. The tiny, certain grip of her son's fingers around her own. Afternoons spent with Erin Moreau as John and Jeff tumbled across the observatory deck, sunlight spilling in just right to make the station feel almost warm. She'd been gone for months now, and the ache had settled deep, a constant hum beneath her work.

Her console chimed.

"Lieutenant," Gunnery-Chief Vega called from the sensor pit, his tone cutting through the bridge's low murmur. "You seeing this?"

She pushed up from her seat and leaned over his shoulder. The tactical display showed a faint, steady blip sliding into range. Almost metallic, and moving.

"Probably just an asteroid," she said out of habit, fingers already keying commands to double-check.

Her brow tightened. "That's… odd."

Vega kept his eyes locked on the screen. "Its vector doesn't match any normal asteroid. It has a pattern - locked right at us."

"Sir," Hannah called to the command rail, where Commodore Marcus Hale stood with his hands clasped behind his back. "We've got an inbound object - initially suspected asteroid, but deviates from normality."

Hale moved over, eyes narrowing at the readout. "Interesting. Any read on its structure?"

"Already running a deep scan, sir," she said, and then the results hit her screen. Her breath caught. "It's… a vessel. Heat signatures. Structure - definitely not human." She glanced up. "Sir... I think it's an alien vessel."

The bridge seemed to still for a heartbeat.

After centuries of emptiness, assuming they were alone, the word hung in the air like a live wire. No one on the bridge knew whether to cheer at the discovery or brace for the worst.

Hale straightened. "Bring us to yellow alert. Quiet readiness. I want barriers primed, weapons on standby - but keep them cold. I want our posture calm, but ready to show our teeth if we must."

Vega's console chimed again, sharper this time. "Sir, the vessel is transmitting. Not a hailing frequency, it's… a digital packet. Directed to us."

"It's communicating?" Hale's brows lifted, a flicker of relief crossing his face. "Route it through."

Vega did as ordered, connecting the digital packet towards Hannah's console where Hales' lingered over her shoulder.

Hannah watched as the data spilled across her screen. It wasn't text or coordinates, but imagery. Symbols woven in geometric patterns. Faces hidden behind smooth, glassy visors in settings they'd never seen before. Crowds gathered around long, low tables, sharing meals under strings of colored lights. Hands exchanging kind gestures. Children darting through narrow corridors lined with a sense of innocence and joy.

It was a culture - alien, yet achingly familiar in its warmth. A message written without language, speaking instead through gestures, rituals, and the quiet universality of community.

Vega leaned back in his seat, eyes wide. "Sir… I think they're friendly."

By now, another human strolled up beside them. One who appeared young, but felt wise beyond their years. He was a good friend of Hannah as of recently, and of Douglas Williams as well.

Second Lieutenant Steven Hackett, newly appointed just the year prior. Young - aged 23 through personnel records, just 3 years younger than her - yet he carried himself like someone who had already seen decades of service. His posture was precise, his tone even, his eyes sharp without being cold.

He was currently one of her juniors even though it didn't necessarily feel like it. Oddly enough, she felt he wouldn't stay that way for long. Hannah had worked alongside officers twice his age who still lacked that quiet authority. Something about him - whether it was the way he absorbed every detail before speaking, or how his words landed without waste - made her wonder if the years on his record told the whole story.

"That's the best news we could hope for," Hackett said, nodding toward the images. "It'd be far more disturbing if it were otherwise."

It wasn't bravado. It wasn't even optimism. It was the certainty of someone who had learned to read the currents long before others saw them.

Hale didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on one of the alien visors - frozen mid-laughter, suspended in a moment of life shared between strangers.

"Lieutenant Shepard... log everything, starting thirty minutes prior to contact. Every last byte. The Systems Alliance - and Earth - will want to see it... and, lets respond in kind."

Hannah was already on it before the order was finished.

"Yes, sir."

---

Location: Scout Vessel - Tala'Sei

Position: Outer Perimeter, Relay 314

The Quarian crew worked in near silence. It had been nearly an hour since they sent their transmission. The was air thick with the unspoken weight of a potential first contact. Every movement was measured, every sound dampened by anticipation.

"Captain," comms officer, Nala'Ru, spoke softly, almost as if afraid to disturb the stillness, "incoming transmission. Digital packet, like ours."

Rael stepped toward her console. "Put it through."

The display flickered to life, revealing a stream of images - familiar in format, yet alien in detail. They mirrored the Quarians' own message, but with additions: sweeping shots of a blue-green planet they could only assume was the sender's home world; glimpses of cities alive with light and movement; creatures domesticated alongside their handlers - others more wild; strangers breaking bread in markets and halls.

Nala glanced up, her voice touched with wonder. "They understood… and they answered in good faith."

A subtle shift passed through the bridge - shoulders loosening, postures softening - as tension bled away.

"It seems," Rael said slowly, his eyes still fixed on the display, "that in this cold, endless void… we are not so different after all." He turned toward Nala. "Transmit an established flight path to the responding vessel."

She hesitated. "Sir, you mean to-"

"To meet them," Rael interrupted, his tone decisive but not unkind. "If they've shown this much openness to the unknown, I see no reason to deny a physical greeting. Don't you?"

Tolan'Vas folded his arms. "Even then, it's still a risk."

Rael gave a faint smile. "We Quarians risk ourselves every day. This is no different. And perhaps… it's worth more than any salvage or discovery we've made in decades. Maybe we'll finally be able to make some friends." He looked back to Nala. "Inform the fleet. Have them send someone seasoned in diplomacy. Until then, we'll suffice."

Less than a minute later, Nala's console chimed. She turned, meeting the Captain's gaze without a word.

The message was clear - the unknowns had accepted their invitation to board.

---

Location: Earth

Position: Switzerland - Geneva, *Temporary* Systems Alliance HQ

The marble steps of the Systems Alliance headquarters rang under the brisk pace of Chairman Erik Stahl, his long coat snapping in the winter air. His expression was calm to the cameras, but his eyes carried the weight of the message that had reached him minutes ago - a message humanity had never prepared to hear.

One of their exploration patrols, part of the 1st Expeditionary Fleet, had made contact with… something. An alien vessel.

Security forces moved in tight formation around him, parting the crowd of reporters shouting over one another, questions flying like shrapnel. Someone had leaked the news before the parliament could even assemble. That leak had just placed a torch in the middle of a powder keg.

At his side, Assistant Secretary of Interstellar Affairs - Donnel Udina. Barely into his twenties but already carrying himself like a man born for politics, kept stride through the chaos. The young aide's voice was low, clipped, as they crossed the security cordon toward the great glass doors.

"Mr. Chairman - confirmation just came in from Admiral Nimitz about Commodore Hales situation aboard the Resolute. The alien vessel has responded to contact. They're… setting up an in-person meeting. Estimated within the hour."

Inside, the noise of the press fell away, replaced by the muted echo of their steps in the vast center hall. Stahl didn't break stride, though his hand briefly tightened on the brass railing of the staircase as they ascended.

"Face to face," he murmured, almost to himself. "The moment we cross from theory into fact."

Udina nodded. "It's official, sir. This will be the first time in history."

Stahl's eyes were sharp now, alive with a mixture of resolve and calculation. Whether these visitors come with peace or fury, the nations of Earth would finally be forced to take the Alliance seriously. No longer an experiment in intergovernmental cooperation - but the shield, and voice, of humanity.

And for Stahl?

He intended to make sure it was his voice the galaxy heard first.

---

Location: SSV Resolute

Position: Docking Bay

Back aboard the Resolute, Commodore Hale stood at the center of a small, armored formation. The greeting party - no more than six strong - waited in the sealed docking bay, the airlock ahead still dormant and locked to the alien ship beyond.

For security and biohazard precautions, the entire section had been isolated from the rest of the vessel. Until the filtration system confirmed the absence of airborne pathogens, no atmosphere from either side would mingle.

Each member of the team wore their hard suit - combat-rated, vacuum-sealed, and helmeted - ensuring nothing living or lethal could slip past their defenses.

Flanking Hale was Staff Lieutenant Hannah Shepard and 2nd Lieutenant Steven Hackett, both silent, alert, and steady under the low hum of the bay's systems. Three armed security personnel rounded out the team, their mirrored visors hiding any hint of nerves.

When the airlock cycle finally began, the clatter of mechanisms echoed across the bay. The inner door slid open with deliberate slowness, revealing three figures framed by the alien craft's dim interior - Rael'Zorah, Tolan'Vas, and Nala'Ru. Though they did not know this.

The aliens stepped through, pausing just a few steps in front of them. The moment stretched in silence, and no one spoke.

Eventually, Hale stepped forward first, careful to keep his movements measured and open, palms visible in what he hoped were universal gestures of goodwill. He smiled through his visor - an expression invisible to them, but perhaps sensed. He pointed to himself.

"Marcus Hale," he said, tapping his chest. Then he extended a hand briefly before lowering it again, uncertain if the gesture would be understood. He turned and motioned to Hannah, then Hackett, speaking each name slowly. "Hannah Shepard, Steven Hackett."

Then he drew a wide circle in the air, pointing to himself and the others. "Humans," he said slowly, enunciating each syllable.

He flattened his hand over his heart. "We are friendly." He pointed outward, then back to himself. "We come… in peace."

There was no reply. The aliens stood motionless, the faint hiss of their suit systems the only sound. For a moment, Hale wondered if he'd just made a fool of himself on behalf of all humanity.

Then - barely perceptible - Rael tilted his helmet ever so slightly toward the others. No words. No laughter. But something about the gesture carried an almost imperceptible weight of amusement, as though they understood every word… and were choosing not to answer.

Rael stepped forward, his voice smooth yet layered with a metallic undertone as it filtered through his suit's comms. The humans couldn't make out a single word - save one.

"Quarian," Rael said, placing a gloved hand to his chest before gesturing toward his two companions.

Hale seized on it instantly. "Quarian," he repeated with a nod, pointing toward them, then back to himself and the others. "Human." His relief was visible in the tilt of his shoulders, as if the first stone of an immense wall had just been removed.

A soft chime echoed in his helmet - an alert from the ship's environmental system. No lethal pathogens detected. The green light on his HUD blinked twice.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached up to the locks at his neck seal. The hiss of depressurization filled the bay as he lifted his helmet free, revealing his face to their alien guests.

Hannah followed, then Hackett. One by one, the security detail removed their helmets until every human face was visible under the stark white lighting.

Rael's gaze shifted from Hale, to Hannah, and finally Hackett. His eyes lingered on Hackett's a bit longer than expected, almost with familiarity.

The Commodore caught the Quarian's attention once more and made a small, questioning gesture toward his own helmet - 'Would you?'

Rael shook his head almost imperceptibly. A quiet refusal. His hands came up in a placating motion, as if to say: 'Not possible.'

The Commodore's brows knit in confusion. Rael exhaled softly, a faint sound over the comms, as if weighing his next move. Then he turned to Tolan'Vas, murmuring something brief. A moment later, he was handed two small devices - sleek, bracer-like instruments with faint orange highlights.

Rael crouched, tools and fingers working deftly over the tech, adapting it with a speed and precision that caught Hale's attention. After a minute of adjustments, he straightened and held them out

Hale approached slowly, extending a hand. The detail around him stiffened, weapons instinctively shifting - but Hale didn't stop. He took the device, the cool metal pressing against his palm.

Rael gestured toward the Commodore's forearm, then to his own, mimicking the act of wearing it. Hale tilted his head in thought. Before he could speak, Hackett leaned in.

"I think," Hackett murmured, "he wants you to put it on. Might be how they talk when faced with language barriers."

Hale blinked, then slid the device onto his arm. At once, its haptic seals clamped snugly into place. A faint hum filled his ears, followed by a sudden clarity as Rael's voice came through - not just sound now, but understanding.

"…Now," Rael said, the words flowing cleanly into Hale's mind, "we can speak as equals."

Hale's eyes narrowed slightly, testing the connection. "You… can understand me now?"

"Yes, I have - actually." Rael replied, his tone calmer now that the barrier had been broken. "And now you can understand me." His gaze once more swept across the Commodore's people before returning to Hale. "This will make things much easier."

The humans shifted in place, still tense but now curious. Hale gave a slow nod. "Then let's start simple. Who are you?"

Rael inclined his head. "I am Rael'Zorah vas Tala'Sei. My people are called Quarians - a nomadic race that travels the stars. We live aboard our space vessels consisting of tens of thousands. All of them put together is what makes up the Migrant Fleet, our home."

Hackett's brow furrowed slightly. "That seems, adventurous?"

Rael let out a small chuckle, his voice then became steady but carrying the faint gravity of a rehearsed truth. "Yes, it can be viewed as much from a certain perspective. At the time of our birth, we remain nomadic until death. Due to our continuous ventures, our immune systems have grown… fragile - so weak that direct exposure to foreign environments could potentially be fatal. That is why we wear these." He gestured to the dark fabric and translucent face-shields of his envirosuit. "Always."

The Commodore's face softened slightly in understanding. "So you can't take them off."

Rael's tone carried no bitterness, only fact. "No. Not without great risk."

"I see, that's... difficult. I can only assume."

A brief silence hung between them before Rael straightened, as if making a decision. "You have questions, I'm sure. I am more than happy to answer them while offering a tour of my ship, the Tala'Sei."

Hale studied him for a long moment, then glanced at Hackett and Hannah who had just slipped on the additional omni-tool. Neither of them voiced an objection. "Very well. Lead the way."

The airlock hissed open with a drawn-out exhale, and the metallic clunk of locking clamps disengaging echoed between the two ships. Hale took the first step across, boots ringing against the grated walkway as he crossed from the pristine corridors of the Resolute into the dim, amber-lit passage of the Tala'Sei.

The difference was immediate.

Here, the walls were a patchwork of welded plating, some scorched at the edges, others a shade or two off from the rest. Conduits and fiber-optic cables snaked overhead in bundled rows, their coverings frayed in places but repaired with precise, almost artful layers of sealant. Panel edges bore the faint hand-tool marks of decades-old maintenance, and the floor plating, though worn smooth by countless footsteps, was kept clean enough to gleam under the low light.

Hackett's eyes moved from wall to ceiling, taking in the blend of mechanical necessity and lived-in utility. "Looks… different," he murmured under his breath.

Rael glanced back at them, catching the remark. "Our ships are not built for beauty. They are built to endure. We take great care in prolonging the value of our equipment - especially our vessels."

Hale's gaze lingered on a patched bulkhead as they passed. "You keep it all operational?"

"Every system," Rael confirmed. "A Quarian ship may serve its people for centuries. When something fails, we repair it. When a part wears down, we find a way to prolong its use before completely scrapping it for additional pieces. No resource is ever wasted."

They moved deeper into the Tala'Sei, past compartments where Quarians worked in tight groups, their suited figures bent over consoles, welding joints, or sticking fingers through access hatches. The air was warmer here, carrying the faint tang of oxygen and metal.

Hackett caught sight of a wall panel with mismatched screws - some hexagonal, others rounded - and smirked faintly. "Guess you're not much for uniformity, either."

Rael's visor tilted toward him, voice holding the faintest edge of pride. "Uniformity is for those who can afford it. We… adapt."

Rael led them through the narrow corridor until it opened into a wide chamber at the ship's forward section, the command deck

It wasn't like any bridge the humans had seen. The room was arranged in tiers, with crew working in tight formations around jury-rigged consoles. Some of the crew glanced at their guests, interested in catching a glimpse of the new species to enter the galactic stage.

Commodore Hale paused at the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the scene. "So this is your bridge…" His voice carried a mix of awe and disbelief.

Rael turned slightly, his posture betraying the faintest pride. "The command deck of the Tala'Sei. It may not be as… polished as yours. But every panel, every conduit, has been repaired and repurposed countless times. She endures because we make her endure."

The Commodore straightened, his tone respectful now. "You are all quite resourceful. It's impressive, if I say so myself."

A quiet pause followed. The Quarians who had, until then, gone about their duties without much notice finally turned to glance at the humans. Their faces remained hidden behind dark visors, yet something unspoken passed between the two groups. Not trust - not yet - but recognition.

Minutes later, the tour of the Tala'Sei came to an end. The six stepped back into the Resolute's docking bay, the weight of what they'd seen still fresh in their minds.

"That was quite the tour, Captain Rael," Commodore Hale said. "We appreciate the warm welcome from your crew."

"The pleasure was mine, Commodore," Rael replied smoothly.

Hale exhaled slowly. "For centuries we've always believed we were alone in this galaxy, yet here we are. Face-to-face with another people. Another civilization."

Hackett's expression was harder to read, but even his tone softened as he added, "It's… more than any of us could have hoped to live to see."

Rael tilted his head slightly, the faintest tendency of acknowledgment. "You should know - you are not the first to stand among the stars. The galaxy is vast, and it is filled with many people, many cultures. Some are strong, some fragile, but all are bound together by what we share."

"Wait," Hannah said, her voice cutting through the moment. "There are more alien civilizations?"

Nala leaned forward slightly, her tone carrying a note of wonder. "Of course. You truly had no idea?"

Hannah shook her head. "None. For most of humanity, this is… everything. Proof we're not just some anomaly drifting in the void. That we can be part of something greater."

Tolan's modulated voice carried a low hum of thought. "Then you are at the beginning of a long journey. The galaxy is older than you can imagine, filled with wonders and dangers in equal measure. To walk among the stars is to carry both hope and burden."

The words lingered in the bay, heavy with experience yet strangely reassuring.

Before the silence grew too long, Hale cleared his throat.

"As much as I'd love to continue this here, I suspect we'll be in conversation for some time. Let's move to our briefing room where we can sit and talk properly. I'd be glad to give you a tour of the Resolute afterward, just as you've done for us."

"We would be grateful for the invitation." Rael replied.

Hale turned to his officers. "Hackett, escort our guests to the briefing room. Hannah, with me - I'll need your help filing a report before we continue."

Both acknowledged the orders without hesitation. As Hale and Hannah departed, Hackett gestured for Rael to follow.

Rael glanced back, noting that Nala and Tolan had already returned to the Tala'Sei. A brief inquiry confirmed it: Nala had been dispatched to send an updated report to their superiors, while Tolan had gone to address a sensor issue aboard their ship.

---

Moments Later

Hackett and Rael moved in silence through the Resolute's corridors, the hum of the ship's engines filling the void between them. Crew members they passed gave curious glances toward the Quarian captain but said nothing. To the human officers, Rael was still a curiosity; to Hackett, there was something more. Their strides matched naturally, as though this path had been walked together countless times before, though neither acknowledged it.

At last, they stepped into the command briefing room. The chamber was quiet, sterile, its long table illuminated by the soft glow of recessed lights. For the first time since boarding, they were alone. The silence between them broke, not with tension, but with the familiarity of two men carrying old secrets.

Hackett exhaled through his nose, leaning lightly on the back of a chair. "You know, of all the encounters I expected after stepping into Turian space… you were the last I predicted."

Rael let out a quiet, humored snort, lifting his hands to disengage his visor. For a brief moment, his face was visible - clear, familiar - meeting the eyes of an old colleague.

"It's good to see you too, old friend."

Notes:

And that is Chapter 6!

As some of you can already begin to understand, Viltrumite influence among the races of the Milky Way is quite vast. Some of the scenes were inspired by another fanfiction if a Quarian first encounter had occurred instead of a Turian, though it is vague so idk if anyone can even tell. Regardless, let me know what your thoughts are so far, and what you may expect or anticipate to come?

Ciao!

TheLivingMyth

Chapter 7: Second Contact: The Weight of a Single Choice

Summary:

In the quiet between heartbeats, three paths converge. Families remembered, loyalties affirmed, destinies decided in whispers rather than shouts. Yet silence cannot hold forever. The void waits, watching, as the balance between hope and despair trembles on the edge of collapse.

Year: 2157

Location: SSV Resolute

Position: Command Briefing Room

For a moment, the façade of alien captain and human officer fell away, leaving only two figures who had once endured side by side.

Hackett allowed himself the faintest smile, though it never reached his eyes. "It's been… what? Years? Decades?"

"Longer than either of us would like to admit," Rael replied, his tone carrying both amusement and regret. "But here we are again. Different stars. Different ships. Same story."

Hackett's jaw tightened. "Maybe. Or maybe this time it plays out differently. Humanity's finally out here, Rael. Finally among the stars. They're eager, desperate even. I never thought we'd be out here this soon before the…" He trailed off, sighing.

Rael's gaze sharpened, immediately knowing what he was referring to. "I know, Steven. I worry too - about what will remain of my people when this nightmare ends."

Neither dared to speak the word aloud, but both felt its shadow: Reapers. A timer ticking down, a cycle waiting to strip the galaxy bare. Their Viltrumite "masters" had done little to prepare, leaving them to watch helplessly as the end crept closer to their homeworlds.

The air grew heavy until Hackett, unwilling to let the silence crush them, tried to shift the tone..

"So," he ventured, "Zorah, huh? I'd never thought you'd ever want to hear that name, much less use it after... what happened during the Morning War."

Rael's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "I know. But after centuries of self reflection and a struggle to push on, I chose the surname in honor of my late betrothed. Bless her soul." His voice dimmed on the final words.

"And she never knew?"

Rael shook his head. "She didn't. Not even when I held her in my arms as the last breath escaped her lips. It still hurts, you know. Just knowing that I could've stopped it - the Geth uprising, the exile from our homeworld. But High Command..." His first clenched "They would've destroyed us all if I'd acted. What's the point of having this power if I can't use it to protect my people when it matters most?" His fury subsided, but the pain still lingered - reminiscing.

"I barely remember her face now, like a distant lifetime. But I can never forget the bold violet hair and smooth lavender skin she had. After I lost her, I didn't want to return to the now deemed Migrant Fleet. So I threw myself at a suicidal mission, and disappeared. I just wanted distance. To serve quietly. To prepare for what's coming. To close my heart to everything but duty and..." he spat the next word like poison, "divinity."

Then, after a beat, his tone shifted to something almost wistful. "Funny how things change."

Hackett caught the shift. "What do you mean?"

Rael turned, meeting his eyes, regret shadowing his expression. "…I found someone."

Hackett's breath caught, his face hardening as if he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "…Rael." His voice was low, almost disbelieving. "You didn't."

Rael's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "I never wanted this. Not at first. When they sent me back into the Fleet, I swore I'd bury myself in duty - keep my distance, stay detached. It was easier that way. Safer."

Hackett leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Obviously, that didn't happen."

Rael exhaled through his nose, his hands tightening on the arm of his chair. "She didn't give me the choice. Nayra'Seelin, her family name. Persistent, warm, infuriatingly charismatic. She kept… finding me. Pushing past the walls I built. I tried to hold her at arm's length, Steven. Ancestors know I tried. But in the end… I couldn't."

A quiet settled over them, heavier than before, yet carrying something gentler beneath it.

Hackett rubbed his temple, muttering, "By God, Rael…"

Rael's voice softened, almost breaking. "We have a daughter. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. Almost a year old in just a few more months, still in her little enviro-bubble. So small. So fragile. But when I look at her…" He trailed off, searching for words, then shook his head. "For the first time since Rannoch, since the exile… I don't just see loss. I see a future."

His voice rasped. "And I can't lose it. Not again."

Hackett leaned back slightly in his chair, running a hand across his jaw as he took in Rael's words. For a long moment, he said nothing - the weight of it all pressing down on him. When he finally spoke, his voice carried both warmth and a stern edge.

"Rael… I'm happy for you. More than you realize. After everything we've both endured, to find something like that - someone like her - that's no small thing. And a child? That's a blessing, not many of us get to claim our descendants."

But his expression hardened, the warrior overtaking the friend.

"Still… you need to be careful. Love and family, for people like us… it rarely ends well. Even if you stayed with them until their dying breath, you'd wind up alone again. Empty. I've seen firsthand the toll it takes on our hybrid kin. It breaks them, Rael. Asari, even Krogan - they'd be more suitable life-long partners. But even then, we'll still outlive them by thousands of years."

His mouth twisted into something between bitterness and humor. "But I've never seen the appeal in mating with a Krogan."

"Perhaps," Rael began, voice quieter now, "once you've lived as long as a pure-blooded Viltrumite, you begin to find the things you once saw as repulsive… more appealing."

Hackett scoffed. "Yeah, no thanks. I've got limits."

The two chuckled at that, though the sound was edged with something hollow - a fragile moment of liveliness clinging to the truth they couldn't escape.

"And you?" Rael asked, shifting the topic. "How has your return among the humans been treating you?"

"I'm still early into rotation, so I can't foresee the full outcome. But if it goes like the last few, I should be able to sever my ties clean when the time comes." His face darkened. "Though I can't say the same for the one I'm relieving."

"Oh, no... you don't mean-"

"Douglas..." Hackett confirmed. "anchored himself again - fourth time now. I don't know how he keeps doing it. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything left of the man he used to be."

"That poor soul. I can only imagine the grief that'll strike once it passes."

"He knew the repercussions," Hackett sighed. "But he also knows what's at stake. If the Viltrumite genome is the one thing that can stand up to the harvest, we must survive. Even if it means…"

He left the words unsaid, but Rael felt them like a blade to his throat. He hated it. He would never approve of it. And yet… the truth lingered, undeniable, heavy as the silence that followed.

Hackett shifted in his chair, brows knitting. "I have to ask, Rael... why the Quarians? Out of every species drifting in this void, why you? Hell, I wasn't even expecting humanity to cross paths with anyone for another week at least. And if it happened, I would've bet my commission on it being the Turians - Adrien Victus among them -assisting humanity's transition onto the galactic stage."

Rael gave a faint chuckle, shaking his head. "Adrien? That wouldn't be possible. The last time we spoke, he was still a junior soldier. No rank, no authority - certainly not enough to represent his people in matters like these. He was rotated back to the Hierarchy last year. If humanity had met the Turians first, it wouldn't have been through him. Besides, he's stationed ground side on their homeland for the time being."

Hackett's eyes narrowed. "So why you, then? Why the Quarians?"

Rael hesitated, then leaned forward, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves might be listening. "It was Athena, she sent me the coordinates. Directed me to your people. Said it was better this way - better for humanity to be welcomed with open hands rather than sharpened talons. The Turians… they would not have been so forgiving. But even then, I struggle to see the advantage in being tied to an ousted race."

"Athena…" Hackett whispered, her name tasting like iron, carrying a weight that pressed against his tongue. He exhaled slowly, leaning back once more, gaze drifting to some point far beyond the bulkhead. "So none of this was chance. Figures."

Rael leaned back into the seat. "Very little ever is."

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence that followed was not hostile, but heavy - two men bound by truths that could bend the course of the galaxy in ways neither could yet fathom.

---

A Few Hours Later

Location: Aboard the Tala'Sei

The sensor console gave a steady pulse as Tolan'Vas adjusted the calibration, each input feeding a precise ripple of data across the display.

Footsteps padded lightly against the deck. Nala'Ru lingered at the threshold for a moment before stepping in, arms folded behind her back. She watched in silence, waiting for the right moment before speaking.

"Tolan," she said softly, her tone cautious yet edged with curiosity.

He glanced up, a brow rising beneath the faint glow of his visor. "Nala. You sound like someone with thoughts too heavy to carry alone."

"Perhaps," she admitted, drifting closer. "It's about the Captain."

That made him pause. He keyed in one last adjustment before lifting his gaze, visor lights dim against the glow of the console. "What about him?"

"You saw it," Nala pressed, coming closer. "When he finished configuring the translator."

Tolan gave a soft chuckle, though it carried no mockery. "I was. Impressive work, wasn't it? Clean, seamless… not even the faint distortions we usually hear when running a new dialect through the system."

"That's just it," Nala pressed, folding her arms. "It was too clean. Almost… perfect. A human tongue none of us had ever heard before, and yet the translator spoke it as though it had been mapping their language for centuries."

Tolan leaned back against the console, studying her with the patience of one who had seen younger crewmates drift into speculation before. "And you think there's something more to it?"

"I think," Nala said carefully, "that no one sets up a translator that quickly. Not without existing data. Not without something more, yet - the Captain didn't even hesitate."

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the hum of the ship. Tolan's gaze didn't waver. "Rael has always had a talent for seeing patterns where others do not. That doesn't mean he hides anything from us."

Nala shifted uneasily. "Maybe not. But talent doesn't explain fluency where none should exist. It felt… rehearsed. Like he knew them before we actually did."

Tolan let out a soft exhale and turned back to his calibration, his hands steady. "If that's true, then perhaps it's best we don't rush to judgment. He's our captain. He carries the burden, not us. If there's more to this… it will surface in time."

Her voice lowered, reluctant. "And if it does? What if it pulls us into it? Perhaps for the worse?"

He paused, then glanced her way with a faint trace of warmth behind his visor. "Then we follow, as we always have. Believe in him. Trust him. Until then, don't let suspicion weigh you down. It blinds faster than truth ever does."

Nala said nothing, though the unease lingered in the quiet between them.

It was then that another voice joined them, steady and unmistakably firm.

"You are right to question."

Both turned sharply, caught off guard by the voice. Rael'Zorah approached, tone calm but carrying the weight of command. Neither of them had noticed his arrival, nor had there been mention of his return to the bridge.

Nala stiffened where she stood, suddenly sheepish, her voice failing her under the realization that her words had been overheard.

Rael's visor caught the glow of the console as he stepped further into the room. "Your diligence does you credit, Nala. And your perception, too. I would expect nothing less from one of my oldest and most trusted crew members."

Her embarrassment faltered, replaced by a flicker of pride, though she still avoided his gaze.

"But…" he continued, a heaviness entering his tone. "What you said is not without truth. There are matters I cannot yet reveal - not to the crew, not even to you. The timing is not mine to decide. All I ask is that you put your faith in me, as you always have. Tell me…" His voice softened slightly. "When have I ever led you all astray?"

Nala's throat tightened, unable to summon an answer. She turned to Tolan, searching for reassurance. His body language spoke it plainly - arms loose, posture calm, visor tilted with something that almost looked like amusement. The message was clear enough: 'I told you so. You worry too much.'

Her unease lingered, but trouble drained from her all the same. At last, she inclined her head with quiet resolve. "You have not, Captain. And I know you will not. You have my faith."

Rael gave a small, approving nod before turning back toward the corridor. "Good. Hold to that. Both of you."

The hum of the ship filled the silence he left behind, yet the weight of his presence lingered even after he was gone.

---

Three Earth Rotation Cycles Later (3 days)

Location: SSV Resolute

Position: Officers Lounge

The lounge hummed with low activity, a soft contrast to the command deck's constant chatter. Panels along the walls glowed a gentle blue, casting their light over a corner where Hannah Shepard sat across from the Tala'Sei's operating pilot.

Her name was Nivara'Solari vas Tala'Sei, a woman with a calm voice that carried the practiced confidence of someone who had spent her life among the stars. The faint shimmer of her visor reflected the small holoprojector on the table between them, where an image flickered to life - a tiny Quarian child inside a rounded enviro-bubble, bundled in blankets, reaching out with bare hands toward the camera.

"He was restless even then," Nivara chuckled, the sound warm despite the filter of her helmet. "The doctors said he never slept more than an hour at a time. I didn't either." She swiped across the projector, and the child's image dissolved into another - a taller figure now, still lanky, still awkward, wearing a freshly stitched suit with his family's crest etched into the shoulder. "And here he is now, preparing to leave for his pilgrimage. By the ancestors, I still see the same stubborn spark in his eyes."

Hannah leaned forward, her smile softening. She pulled a slim datapad from her jacket, tapping the screen until a photo bloomed into view. It was of John, no more than a few months old, bundled against her chest with his tiny fists clenched tight in sleep. The projector changed into little John once the connection shifted over.

"This one's mine. His name is John Shepard. Born almost 3 years ago." She hesitated, her voice tinged with that new-mother pride she couldn't quite hide. "He's everything I didn't know I wanted until he arrived."

Nivara tilted her head, studying the image as if committing it to memory. "He looks… peaceful. You must be proud."

"I am," Hannah said, her voice quiet but certain. "Terrified, too. The galaxy feels so much larger now that I have something so small to protect."

They lingered there for hours, trading stories - of restless nights, of first words muffled through tiny mouths, of laughter echoing in metal corridors. Different worlds, different struggles, yet the thread of parenthood bound them together.

The soft chime of the door cut through their conversation. Rael'Zorah stepped inside, pausing as the projector's glow caught his eye. His posture eased when he saw what they were doing.

"Sharing family?" he asked, moving closer. His tone carried a gentleness rarely heard from him.

"Yes," Nivara answered, her voice fond. "Hannah here was kind enough to indulge me."

Rael's gaze flicked to Hannah, then to the image of John on the projector. His expression softened, almost wistful. "You know, your child reminds me of my own. That look of curiosity and innocence that plagues the air everywhere they look. It's captivating. I can't wait to see her again after this tour ends."

"Oh really?" Hannah smirked. "How old is she?"

"About 8 months now, born just last year. Her name is Tali'Zorah." He smiled behind his visor, though invisible to the naked eye. "Yours?"

"John, almost three. Just a few more months until then." She glanced fondly at the photo still glowing on her projector. "I'll be going on leave soon to see him and my husband. We plan to take a trip somewhere tropical."

Rael inclined his head. "Happy early birthday to John, then. May the three of you enjoy yourselves." He turned slightly, his attention shifting back to Nivara. "Though speaking of families… Nivara, if you're here aboard the Resolute, who's on the pilot seat in the Tala'Sei?"

Nivara stiffened, then gave a soft laugh that eased the edge of her embarrassment. "I may have overstepped, Captain. But when I heard of Hannah Shepard's background, I couldn't resist meeting her myself." She rose, giving a small bow of her head toward both of them. "Thank you, Hannah, for sharing your time with me. It meant more than I can say."

Her voice carried the warmth of someone leaving with a full and appreciative heart.

---

Location: THS Vigilant Spear (Turian Hierarchy Space Vessel)

Position: Just outside the perimeter of Relay 314

The patrol fleet of Hierarchy warships cut a sharp line through the void, their formation as precise as the men and women who commanded them. At the head, the Vigilant Spear loomed, its angular frame carrying the weight of authority. On its bridge, Captain Lucerion Varen stood with arms folded behind his back, the sharp ridge of his mandibles flexing as his eyes swept the stars ahead.

"Routine patrol," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else - bored and drained. "The Hierarchy keeps the order, so that others may sleep soundly."

His mind trailed on and off, routine plaguing his eyes as the dullness of space shaved away his sharp edges. The thought was broken by a sharp voice from one of the assigned sensor personnel.

"Captain! I'm reading… disturbances near the dormant relay. Power fluctuations - irregular spikes."

Varen pivoted, narrowing his gaze. A new found light in his eyes. "Bring it on-screen."

The outline of the dormant relay appeared, but scattered around it drifted a cluster of ships. Sleek, unfamiliar silhouettes hovered in loose orbit, their hulls gleaming with alien designs that spoke of another culture entirely.

The sensor officer's talons clicked against the console. "A dozen vessels, unidentified configuration. They appear to be interfacing with the relay… possibly attempting activation."

The bridge air grew dense. Varen's mandibles twitched, a sneer forming as he exhaled a low growl. "Relay tampering? That's a clear violation of citadel law." His voice carried like stone scraping metal. "Such actions cannot be left unpunished."

The sensor officer only slightly at the additional reading. "Captain… I've managed to confirm one of the signatures. Quarian design. Scouting Vessel."

The sneer deepened into outright disdain. "Suit-rats." The word dripped from his mouth like venom. "Always scurrying at the edges, meddling in matters beyond them. If they're behind this, the Council will have its scapegoat."

He straightened, mandibles flaring. "Have the helm bring us closer. Charge the main guns. Sound battle stations. If they think to break galactic law under our watch, we will answer with discipline."

The horn began their howl, bathing the bridge in crimson as the crew scrambled to bring their weapons online. Their fellow patrol vessels mirrored the lead ship, already given orders of the impending confrontation.

---

Location: Aboard the Selani

Position: Opposite end of the Turian patrol's vector.

The escort group cut a steady path through the void, three mid-sized vessels flying in tight formation. At their head was the Selani, commanded by Captain Han'Gerrel vas Selani. To many Quarians he was a rising figure within the Fleet, but to Rael'Zorah he was first and foremost a comrade. The two had once served as young trainees aboard the battleship Yaska, where their quick action and unshakable resolve had helped turn back a Batarian raid that might have otherwise claimed the ship. The moment forged a bond neither time nor distance had broken.

Now, Han carried a different charge: diplomacy, not battle. Within the Selani rode a chosen envoy, tasked with reaching out to the newest spacefaring race to emerge into the galaxy - humanity.

"Captain," the sensor officer called from her station, voice sharp but controlled. "We're detecting faint anomalies ahead. Just as Captain Zorah mentioned."

Han leaned forward in his chair. "Confirm it."

The officer's hands moved across the console, refining the scan. A cluster of silhouettes soon flickered into clarity against the starlight. "Multiple vessels. Not Quarian. Signatures match nothing in Citadel or Fleet databases." A pause, more certain this time. "It must be them. The humans."

A quiet breath escaped Han's lips. "Then our course is true. Signal them - inform them we come as envoys, seeking dialogue."

The communications team began preparing the message, but another alert cut across the bridge like a blade.

"Captain!" the same officer snapped. "Additional contacts - opposite sector. Turian patrol group, closing in fast. Their formation suggests combat readiness."

The bridge stilled. Even through visors, the unease was noticeable.

Han stood, almost instinctively. He managed to catch a glance into the void, the sight of the Tala'Sei dwarfed in comparison to its neighbors. Just before its direction became bright with fire and flame.

---

Location: Aboard the SSV Resolute

Postion: Command Deck

The command deck of the SSV Resolute hummed with low conversation, the air carrying a sense of ease unlike the past few weeks. Gunnery-Chief Vega sat slouched at his station, half-turned toward two ensigns trading quiet jokes over rations. He joined in with a chuckle, his voice booming a little too loudly for the otherwise subdued room.

Since the Quarian arrival, everything has slowed to a crawl. Schedules softened, drills grew rarer, and the ever-present buzz of urgency dulled to a hum. For once, the crew found themselves with time - something rare, and dangerous in its own way.

Then Vega's console chimed. Once. Twice. Then a sharp cascade.

His smile faltered as his posture straightened. Fingers flew over the interface, dragging data streams into a clearer picture. Electromagnetic waveforms bent across the display, their peaks too clean, too intentional to be background noise.

"Wait, what the hell is this?" he muttered, leaning in.

By chance - or maybe timing born of instinct - Commodore Hale and Captain Rael'Zorah stepped back onto the deck. Vega's hand shot up immediately.

"Sir! You need to see this - now!"

Both officers crossed the deck swiftly, leaning over his shoulder as the mapped formations resolved into sharp, unmistakable outlines. Vega's throat worked, the realization hitting him the same moment as the Commodore.

"Approaching patrol," Vega breathed. "Fast. Direct line for us. Their formation is tight… intended."

The Commodore's eyes narrowed. His voice cut through the command deck like a blade. "Red alert. Bring all military ships to combat readiness. Get our shields online - now."

Klaxons flared scarlet, painting the room in warning light. Crew scrambled to their posts, chatter dying into sharp orders. Vega's hands flew across the console, sweat prickling at the back of his neck.

"Trying, sir - but they won't reach full strength in time!" His voice shook despite his effort to steady it. "We'll be at fifty - maybe sixty percent tops before they're on us!"

The seconds stretched thin, the hum of the deck narrowing into a suffocating silence broken only by alarm tones.

Then the sensors lit up. A ripple of warheads. A volley of missiles screaming across space, all locked onto the Resolute's command deck.

Vega froze, eyes wide as the trajectories carved across his display. Time seemed to break apart - every breath, every movement drawn out unbearably long as the crew stared down the inevitable.

And for that instant, before impact, no one spoke.

---

Location: Aboard the Tala'Sei

Position: Command Deck

Aboard the Tala'Sei, the command deck basked in a rare moment of calm. Nivara sat quietly at her station, her eyes drifting to the worn photograph fixed near her console - a snapshot of her son, smiling, hopeful, standing at the edge of a future he had only just begun to chase. Somewhere out there, across the gulf of stars, he walked his Pilgrimage alone. She wondered if he thought of her as often as she thought of him.

The quiet serenity she built around the memory of her son had shattered in an instant.

The ship's alert klaxons blared, casting red light across her console. Nivara straightened, her fingers moving fast across the interface. The data came alive in a storm of hostile signatures, and one glance was enough to chill her blood.

Turians.

Her lips shaped the word silently, confirming to herself what the others were only beginning to process. She forced her voice steady, reporting to the crew as her hands flew across the controls, bringing systems back to readiness. Power rerouted. Shields cycling up. Engines spooling.

But then another signal appeared.

Her heart clenched as the targeting data unfolded across her screen. A barrage of missiles, all locked onto the Resolute.

Nivara's gaze flicked to the Tala'Sei's barrier readout. Seventy-five percent and climbing. They had a chance. But the humans… her eyes narrowed on the numbers, calculation cutting sharper than instinct. The Resolute's shields would never reach strength in time.

That ship wouldn't survive.

Her chest grew tight. For a fleeting second, memories flooded her mind unshackled. The face of her son as he set out into the stars, a husband already lost to disease long ago. She had endured that emptiness, learned to carry it. But the image that surfaced next wasn't of her own kin. It was Hannah Shepard, cradling her infant in the picture she'd shared earlier. A family whole. Bright. Untouched by the scars that weighed down Nivara's heart.

And in that instant, the choice was made.

"Forgive me," she whispered, to no one and to everyone.

Her hands slammed down on the helm controls, the deck lurched violently as the ship surged forward, her body straining against the restraints as she forced the vessel between the Resolute and the incoming fire.

For the briefest heartbeat, her thoughts returned to her son - his journey unfinished, his smile so much like his father's. She hoped he would understand. She hoped he would forgive.

She closed her eyes and let her last thought drift not to the emptiness of loss, but to the hope of a family she'd never see broken.

And then the world became bright, and now nothing.

---

Location: Aboard the Selani

Position: Command Deck

The bridge of the Selani fell into a deathly silence as the Tala'Sei bloomed into fire. The shockwave rippled across the void, fragments scattering like sparks in a black sea. Han'Gerrel's heart seized in his chest, and before he could stop himself, his voice tore free - broken.

"RAEL!"

The sound echoed off the command deck, jagged and rasp, leaving every crew member frozen in place. No one dared speak. No one breathed. The Selani's crew, hardened by years in the void, now stood paralyzed by the sight of their sister ship - of their kin - obliterated before them.

The silence stretched, heavier than the grave. Then, hesitantly, his XO's voice broke through, trembling but steady enough to reach him.

"Captain… your orders?"

Han'Gerrel's fists clenched tight, his nails almost biting through his gloves as fury swallowed his grief. His breathing huffed beneath his visor, and the words came like thunder.

"Those bastards… those Turian butchers think they can slaughter us without consequence?" His eyes burned with fire as he turned to the forward display, gaze locked on the enemy formation. "We'll show them what it means to strike the Migrant Fleet. What it means to take from us!"

He straightened, voice rising into a roar that carried through every console, every officer, every soul aboard the ship.

"Arm every gun we have. Lock onto those ships—" his rage peaked, spilling over into a bellow that shook his bridge crew from their paralysis.

"AND LET 'EM HAVE IT!"

Notes:

Apologies for the cliffhanger, but I felt it was good to leave it in a bit of suspense.

Part of this scene was influenced by another Mass Effect Fan Story titled: And the Meek Shall Inherit the Galaxy by Full-Paragon. My only issue with that story is that the world building is too much for me, haha. Not that I dislike it, it's because I'm an impatient reader that likes to get to the good stuff that changes the ME in-game timeline.

Which reminds me, I hope to start the in-game timeline within the next 5 to 10 chapters, but I just need a few more things to happen. Would you guys care if I make the chapters longer? I've been keeping them roughly 5k words since I don't want to over-stretch the eyes.

Other than that, let me know what you guys think of this. Feedback or direction would be lovely.

Ciao~

TheLivingMyth

Chapter 8: Across the Stars

Summary:

Between the echoes of battle and the silence of space, lives move forward in fragile balance. A family’s bond is tested against forces beyond their knowing, where the smallest joys shine brightest. As laughter mingles with unease, hearts are drawn to choices that will ripple far beyond the depths of the void.

Location: SSV Resolute

Position: Command Deck

The command deck of the SSV Resolute lay in stunned silence, the crew still reeling from the sight of the Tala'Sei's sudden end. The void where she had stood was a wound carved into the stars, her light extinguished now extinguished, not for her own people, not for her kin - but for strangers. A mother, a crew, an entire ship given for them.

Rael'Zorah's hands trembled against the railing, his voice caught in his throat. The disbelief in his eyes told the story of a man who had lost far more than a vessel.

"Keelah..." he whispered to no one, the words breaking against the glass as though the ship itself had gone hollow.

Commodore Hale did not let the moment linger. His voice rang clear, sharp enough to cut through the haze.

"Signal all civilian vessels - science, exploration, every last one. Evacuate the system at once. We'll buy them the time they need."

The crew snapped to, fingers dancing across consoles. Hale's tone hardened, steel replacing grief.

"All combat-ready vessels: shields hot, weapons primed. Protect the noncombatants."

Before the humans could return fire, the void itself erupted.

From the dark beyond, three Quarian ships tore into view, their guns already roaring. Blazing arcs of fire streaked past the Resolute's viewport, striking into the Turian patrol with disciplined fury. The deck vibrated faintly as shockwaves rippled across the formation.

It was the moment the humans realized - they were no longer standing alone.

"That's the arriving Quarian envoy." Rael managed, voice shaking.

A light lit in the Commodore's eyes, one that didn't need a smile to accompany it. "Then let's show our guests what the human spirit is all about. All ships, target their lead vangaurd. Break their formation! Tear them out of my sky!"

The void lit in fire. Turian frigates broke into a sharp - hasty wall, their formation tightening in an attempt to crush the unexpected Quarian arrivals.

But they weren't facing one opponent anymore.

On Hale's command, the human formation shifted - frigates pushing wide to flank, cruisers pulling forward into a protective wall. The Quarians managed to push their way beside them relatively unscathed, their gunners laying down suppressive fire to cover the human advance.

Gunnery Chief Vega - with the assistance of Rael - managed to set up connection with the lead Quarian ship, the Selani

.

Rael: This is Rael'Zorah attempting to contact the Selani, come in Selani.

One moment turned into two, and then...

Han'Gerrel: Rael, is that you?

Rael couldn't help but fight back a smile

Rael: Han, it's good to hear your voice.

He shakes away his emotions, the Captain now overtaking him.

Rael: I've taken refuge on the Resolute. The humans are now on your flank. They intend to pin the Turians down if you're able help drive them in.

Han: You insult me, it's like taking nutrient paste from a baby.

Rael: Just what I expected to hear. The Humans will mark their targets. Assist in the burn out once you receive positive identification.

Han: Copy that. Awaiting their marks... and, it's good to hear you come out of this, Rael.

Han severed connection after that, the battle ahead now their main focus

.

Arcs of plasma carved the dark, lancing into Turian shields. The return fire hammered back, rattling decks and throwing sparks across the Resolute's command.

"Enemy frigates trying to cut the line!" a sensor officer called.

"Not today," Hale snapped. "Frigates Bravo and Delta, intercept. All cruisers, concentrate fire on their lead destroyer - overwhelm and roll their flank!"

For the first time, human volleys struck in perfect sync with Quarian missiles. One Turian frigate cracked under the barrage, its hull flaring white before bursting apart.

The crew of the Resolute erupted in a cheer - but Hale didn't let it swell.

"Stay sharp! This fight isn't won yet."

Through the viewport, Quarian and human gunfire cut across the stars, two fleets locked in a single rhythm.

It wasn't planned. It wasn't trained. But it was war.

And war forged allies faster than treaties ever could.

---

Nearly an hour later

Location: THS Vigilant Spear

Postion: Command Deck

The Vigilant Spear shuddered under the weight of another impact, her decks vibrating with every blow. An hour had passed since the first volley, and the battle had devolved into a grinding war of attrition.

On the tactical display, the numbers told their own story. Four human vessels crippled, three already drifting powerless into the void. Not destroyed, but out of the fight. Quarians - damn them - not a single confirmed kill. And the Hierarchy? Three ships lost, and the rest bleeding strength by the minute.

Captain Lucerion Varen's mandibles twitched as he scanned the board. His formation had become a carousel of desperation: vessels rotating forward to catch fire until their barriers buckled, then peeling back for recharge while others took their place. Discipline was holding, but just barely. Cracks were showing - everywhere. In the line. In the crew. In the very air he breathed.

"Captain, we can't hold much longer!" his XO barked, desperation rising. "Another wave and we're finished. We have to—"

"Enough!" Varen snarled, talons gouging metal. His pride demanded silence. His career, his name, demanded he endure. "I will not hear you attempt to utter that word again!"

'Retreat' The very thought coiled in his gut like poison. If he gave that order, if he abandoned this engagement, his career in the Hierarchy was finished. His honor shattered. His name - forgotten, or worse, cursed. If he returned to Palaven with nothing but failure, his name was ash. But if he returned with knowledge… with leverage… there might still be a sliver of redemption.

He jabbed a talon against the command console. "Launch trackers. Target their command ships, their support lines. I want eyes on these primitives one way or another."

Suddenly, the deck pitched under another blow, alarms wailing, reports flooding in. Two more cruisers spiraling out of formation, one venting atmosphere, the other blind and broken. His command net filled with panic: voices shouting over each other, demands for orders, pleas for survival.

Varen saw it in their eyes - even his officers. Fear. Doubt. Retreat already taking hold.

And in that moment, his pride cracked.

"All ships… fall back. Full withdrawal."

The words were poison, but they were out, and the fleet reacted like cornered animals. Discipline collapsed. Vessels spun away in ragged arcs, some firing blindly to cover their escape, others running without cohesion. The tight lines of the Hierarchy disintegrated into chaos, a proud fleet reduced to scattered prey fleeing into the void.

On the Vigilant Spear's bridge, silence followed. Captain Varen stood rigid, mandibles quivering, the taste of ash in his throat. His command survived - but at what cost? His honor lay shattered, bleeding out in the void.

---

Location: SSV Resolute

Position: Command Deck

The battle was over.

The black stretched silent once more, save for the flicker of debris and the slow drift of crippled ships. For the first time in nearly an hour, the stars were still.

On the command deck of the Resolute, there was no cheer at first - only the release of breath no one realized they'd been holding. Then it began, low at the edges: a laugh from comms, a relieved whoop from navigation. Within moments, the silence was broken by applause, shouts, and the kind of nervous energy that came only from those who had stared into the abyss and clawed their way back.

The Quarians joined them over the fleet channels, their accented voices carrying thanks and solidarity. Some voices trembled with grief, others rang with triumph, but all carried the same thread: victory.

Commodore Hale stood tall at the center of it all, his expression steady even as his chest swelled with pride. He let the moment live, gave his crew their victory, then raised a hand for quiet.

"Status reports. I want them all, every ship."

The celebration dimmed into the rhythm of duty. One by one, the numbers came in. Hull breaches. Engines offline. Shield emitters fried. Three vessels gutted so badly they had to be tethered and towed. Others were limping, bleeding power, but still functional - barely.

Hale's jaw tightened at the tally. Relief had its place - but survival was only the beginning.

"Signal the fleet," he ordered, voice carrying the weight of command. "We're going home. Set course for Shanxi. Every ship that can move, move. Every ship that can't - we tow. Nobody gets left behind."

Acknowledgements rang through the comms, firm and sure. On the viewport, the scattered formation began to knit itself back together, wounded vessels being roped in by their escorts, engines burning toward the relay.

A friendly face joined Hale at the center - Rael'Zorah. His tone was quieter than before, humbled but resolute.

"Our vessels will go with you. This fight has tied our people together, whether we meant it or not."

Hale gave a single nod. "Then you'll have a place in Shanxi's skies."

And as the battered coalition limped toward the relay, a new thread bound them - not just through circumstance, but choice. Their victory was not the end, but the first page of something greater.

---

Seven hours after the Relay 314 Incident

Location: Earth

Position: Geneva - Switzerland (Systems Alliance Temporary HQ)

The air in Geneva was heavy.

Chairman Eric Stahl stood just behind the makeshift stand erected outside the Alliance's temporary headquarters, the weight of history now pressing upon him. His aides had prepared a speech - one meant to inspire awe, to announce to the world that humanity was not alone, that they had found friends among the stars. That, for once, the unknown had finally answered one of humanity's oldest questions.

But the news that just reached him had burned that speech to ash.

Seven ships crippled. Families already marked for grief. A tragedy he would have to bury beneath the words he was about to deliver.

As he stepped into the blinding flashes of cameras, the roar of thousands met him. Faces stretched in every direction, hungry for certainty, desperate for hope.

The people fell silent, and Stahl let the silence linger, letting the world feel the weight of the moment. The script at his stand whispered for him to begin, but he did not follow. Its words were hollow now - empty, ceremonial, unworthy of the blood already spilled.

He needed something more.

What he needed was not perfection. What he needed was truth. Something flawed, but alive. Something born of duty, of compassion, of family - of hope.

When he finally spoke, his voice carried no pretense, stripped clean of ceremony. It rang instead with conviction.

 

For as long as we've walked this Earth, humanity has always carried its flaws. Our history is written in violence, betrayal, and destruction. We climbed from the dark ages, scarred by war and greed. And yet - through every horror endured, through every atrocity committed - we've emerged stronger, wiser - enlightened.

We found unity in many forms. Through faith and tradition. Through morals and value.  Or even by the unshakable belief that there must be something more out there. Something beyond us - unspeakable, unreachable

For centuries, we asked the question: Are we alone? Are we - humans - the anomaly?  Alone among the vastness of space - of trillions of stars?  A single flame flickering in an infinite night?  That question has haunted us since the dawn of wonder.

And today, at last, I stand before you with the answer.

 

He paused, the crowd silent, and allowed his words to sink in. Billions across the globe leaned in as if the world itself had stopped to listen.

 

We are not alone.

A few days ago, our exploration team encountered another race among the stars. Sentient, Intelligent, Selfless. They call themselves Quarians. A nomadic people who wanders the stars. They hold onto much of the values we humans do. They cherish family. They live by compassion. They endure through love.

And in them we saw our own reflection. Not strangers. Not rivals. But kindred spirits. Forged in hardship, bound by hope.

 

For a heartbeat, pride warmed his words. Then his face fell, his tone shifting heavier.

 

But not all who dwell among the stars share this spirit.

We were not greeted by peace alone. Hours ago, our fleets were attacked. Without warning, without reason - by another power. They struck not only at us, but at our Quarian allies.

Seven ships were crippled. Families of Earth will now grieve sons and daughters who will never again bask under the warmth of our suns rays.

And yet… even in that darkness, a light burned bright. When the enemy sought to destroy our flagship, to shatter our command and end us before the fight began - someone stood in their way.

They failed.

The heart of our fleet had been saved - not by human hands - but a Quarians!

The Tala'Sei!

At that very moment, when death came knocking at our door, they did not hesitate. They gave everything to protect us, though they owed us nothing. Their sacrifice was written not in words, but in fire and blood - so that our Resolute might endure.

And endure, we did.

That, my people, is nobility. That is friendship. That is the bond of two races who only just met - yet now bleed for one another.

So hear me now, as I speak not only to you, but to those who dared strike at us: we are not afraid.

For too long, humanity has been divided - by borders, by creed, by the sins of our own past. But listen well: This can end here. This can end now. Because today, we are given a chance to correct the course of human history.

Human and Quarian - united through the blood of our children - can begin anew.

Together, we stood against tyranny. Together, we prevailed against annihilation. And together, we will carve our very names across the stars, forever remembered as two civilizations that rose as one!

 

His hand struck the podium, each word landing like a drumbeat.

 

We will not buckle! We will not yield! We will not turn from the sacrifice made in our name!  For this - this is who we are!

The apex race of Earth! The bastion of Sol! The underdogs of a frontier that does not welcome us!

People of Earth - of humanity! Answer me now!

As we rise to meet this challenge... will we greet it as we always have, divided by our distorted past? Or will we seize this moment - to protect something greater than ourselves?

 

The silence shattered like thunder. Cheers erupted, rolling across the plaza, spilling into the streets of Geneva, carried by broadcast to every corner of Earth. Faces once shadowed by fear now burned with pride. Soldiers snapped to salute. Children raised their flags high. Strangers embraced as though they had always been friends.

And within the roar, one word took shape.

 

"War"

 

It thundered from every throat, not as dread, but as resolve. A spell. A vow. This war was not like those of the past. This had an enemy, a cause, and now, a purpose.

For the first time in history, Earth rose not for itself alone, but for something more.

---

Four days after the Relay 314 Incident

Location: The Citadel - Presidium Ring

Position: Vakarian Household

The morning light filtered through the apartment's curved glass wall, pale blue shafts cutting across the neat dining space.

Castis Vakarian sat at the head of the table, mandibles clicking faintly as he scrolled through the morning briefs on his datapad. The headline feed was nothing unusual: another policy debate on trade tariffs with the Volus, a minor protest in the Lower Wards over housing shortages, a councilor making bold claims about stricter relay controls.

He snorted quietly, lowering the screen just enough for Monell to catch the expression.

"What is it now?" she asked, setting down a dish with practiced grace.

"Politics," he muttered. "The dull kind."

Monell arched a brow. "So, the same as every year."

"Exactly." He gave a dry chuckle, finally setting the datapad aside. "Council posturing, trade disputes, and C-Sec left holding the bucket and mop Nothing ever changes."

She circled behind him, placing a steaming plate before him, grazing the back of his shoulder with affectionate familiarity.

"Eat before it gets cold."

""Yes, yes. Wouldn't want to face paperwork on an empty stomach. That's deadlier than any firefight."

Monell gave him a mock-scolding look as she arranged the last of the plates. "That's what you get for refusing to retire. Always chasing duty, never resting."

"How can I retire midway into my career?" he shot back, half-teasing.

"Oh, boo-hoo." She smirked. "We could always run off-grid, live quietly instead of burying ourselves in society's mess."

Castis gave her an amused glance. "Your idea of retirement is foraging in the hills?"

"I don't see why not." She teased, and his mandibles twitched in response.

Before he could reply, the hiss of a door sliding open drew their attention.

Aelianus Vakarian stepped into the light, duffel slung across his shoulder, armor plates polished but travel-worn. The tension in his posture sat ill against the welcome of home.

Monell blinked. "Aelianus… what are you doing with your bag? You've only just returned."

Castis set his fork down, frowning. "It's been three days. Didn't the Hierarchy grant you a week?"

Aelianus exhaled, jaw tight. "Orders came in last night. Command recalled all hands. I'm to report aboard the Indomitable by 1000."

The plate in Monell's hands trembled. "So soon?"

He winced at her tone. "I'm sorry, Ma. None of us like it, but it's a full mobilization. They haven't told us why. Most of the pals thinks it's another training-op."

Castis leaned back, mandibles twitching, his voice measured but eyes sharp. "Then do your duty, son. Though I dislike the suddenness of it all, you should really consider joining C-sec once your service is complete. It'll keep you closer to home."

Aelianus nodded. "I know, Dad. But right now… this is where I'm needed."

Monell stepped closer, setting the plate down with care. "At least sit. Share breakfast with us before you go. Please."

"I can't," he said, regret heavy in the words. "If I wait, I'll be in security lines all morning. You know how rush hour is."

Silence pressed in, heavy and unkind. Then Aelianus set the bag down, pulling his mother into a tight embrace. She held him as though memorizing his shape all over again.

"Come home safe," she whispered.

He pulled back, offering her a small smile. "I'll try, Ma. You know how it is."

Turning to Castis, Aelianus straightened and gave a crisp nod. His father rose halfway from his chair, returning the gesture - a fathers respect, tempered with pride.

Before he reached the door, Aelianus stopped by the counter, picking up a sealed ration pack. The nutrient paste he and his mother had made together yesterday - their little family recipe, familiar and grounding. He tucked it into a pouch on his armor, patting it once.

"The last taste of home I'll have for a while," he said, managing a small chuckle.

Monell's mandibles fluttered in a half-smile, but her eyes stayed wet.

Aelianus keyed the door open, but paused before crossing the threshold. "Tell little Garrus that I'll see him later. I didn't want to wake him - he looked so peaceful."

And with that, he was gone. The door hissed shut, leaving only silence and the faint hum of the Citadel beyond the walls.

Monell lowered herself into a chair, staring at the untouched breakfast. Castis reached across the table, resting his hand over hers.

"He'll be fine," Castis said quietly, though his gaze lingered on the closed door. "Our boy's strong. Stronger than even he knows."

Monell nodded faintly, though her mandibles trembled. "I only wish strength could shield me from the pain in my heart."

---

Two Weeks after the Relay 314 Incident

Location: Planet Shanxi

The Shanxi sky was quiet, a pale wash of blue stretching endlessly above the scarred earth.

Hannah Shepard walked alone along the outskirts of the settlement, her boots crunching softly against the brittle ground. The fleet had limped into orbit only two days before, battered and weary, their systems still half-dead from the fight. Crews of the fleet were ashore on forced leave while engineers coaxed the ships back to life, leaving soldiers and sailors alike with little to do but wait.

Hannah did not wait. Her feet had carried her here, to the edge of memory.

The homestead stood ahead - silent, sagging, half-swallowed by the land that once sustained it. Fields that had once been golden with crops now lay gray and barren, three years of neglect allowed the wild to reclaim what had been stolen. The sight struck harder than any weapon.

This place had been her beginning, her turning point. The start of a chapter she longed to embrace once more - now alone.

She mounted the porch steps, her hand brushing the rail. Dust clung to her skin, fine and gray, the residue of abandonment settling like a shroud. At the door, she found the key still hidden in its old place behind the dead porch light. The lock yielded with a reluctant click, as if resenting the intrusion.

Inside, the air was heavy with stillness. Each breath carried the taste of dust, of years untouched. Her eyes drifted over the familiar shapes cloaked in shadow - the narrow hallway, the scuffed floorboards, the kitchen table that had once held laughter and arguments alike.

But memory, this time, carried a weight she could not bear.

Nivara'Solari's face flashed before her - the quiet strength in the quarian pilot's eyes, the gentleness in her voice when they spoke of children.

Hannah remembered the Tala'Sei's hull burning in the void, the impossible choice Nivara had made, and the silence that followed when her ship was gone. A mother, a friend, who had given everything so Hannah and the others might live.

The guilt gnawed at her. That sacrifice had bought her another sunrise, but at the cost of a life that should never have been offered. If they had stayed vigilant - if she had been monitoring - maybe Nivara would still be alive.

And what would John inherit? A war already bleeding into their home, into their futures. Would he grow up learning to build, or only to fight? Would the shadow of a galaxy at war hang over him as heavily as this tragedy now hung over her?

Her throat tightened. She thought of Nolan, back at Arcturus with John. He never said it, but she knew that man was still fighting his own battles, carrying his own burdens. What would it have done to him if she had not returned? What would it do to John?

Her gaze wandered across the vacant home. She saw Nolan here, colder then, uncertain if this fragile dream of a family could last. She saw the night they had chosen each other anyway, building something greater than the walls and fields that surrounded them.

She drifted toward the bedroom. It greeted her exactly as they had left it - tidy, untouched, waiting. The sight unraveled her.

Crossing the threshold, she sank onto the mattress, the springs groaning under her weight. She rolled to his side, burying her face in the place where his scent had once lingered. The silence roared in her ears. Here, more than anywhere, the ache was unbearable: the absence of her husband, the absence of her child, the absence of the life she was fighting to protect - now on a distant star.

Her chest trembled as the grief spilled out, unbidden. She clutched at the sheets, as if by sheer will she could summon him back, anchor herself to something more than memory.

Slumber came slowly, unevenly, catching her between sobs until at last it dragged her under. She lay there in the hollow of an empty past, the ghost of warmth pressed against her cheek, as outside the wind moved through the dead fields with the sound of something long forgotten.

Her whispers came broken, and alone.

"I miss you."

.

High above Shanxi, broken debris streaked through the atmosphere, igniting into fire t hat scarred the sky. A warning horn blared across every settlement, its deep, unyielding cry chilling civilians and rousing soldiers to arms. Shanxi, blind to the shadow descending upon it, braced for an inevitable encounter.

---

The Following Day

Location: Arcturus Station

Position: Observatory Room

The Observatory had long since stopped being only a place for stargazing. Its wide windows and curved booth seats had been overtaken by scattered toys, half-built blocks, and the endless laughter of two children who made it their kingdom.

Nolan sat back in the cushioned booth, one arm stretched lazily along the seat, his gaze drifting between the swirling stars outside and the small battlefield unfolding at his feet. Beside him, Erin Moreau mirrored the posture, her smile patient but alive as she watched her son and Nolan's tear across the open floor. Their conversations had ebbed and flowed through the afternoon - sometimes full of small plans for the future, sometimes just the quiet comfort of two parents watching life unfold.

On the floor, John crouched low, baring his teeth in his best dragon growl as he darted from side to side, his eyes never leaving Jeff. The smaller boy clutched a makeshift toy sword in both hands, his stance firm despite the wobble in his knees. John didn't know why Jeff had to be more careful, only that he had to be gentler with him. That was fine - friends protected each other, and John was determined to make the game fun.

"No, dragon! You'll never take her!" Jeff shouted, the soft plastic blade trembling but lifted high in defiance.

Erin gasped, pressing her hands to her chest with exaggerated panic. "Oh, brave knight! Please, save me!"

John lunged, claws outstretched, letting his growl echo through the room. Jeff squealed, stumbling a step back before planting his feet and swiping at the air with fearless determination.

Nolan couldn't help it; a small grin tugged at his lips as he watched his son's wild zig-zag charges and Jeff's shrill but brave counterattacks. The sheer joy painted across their faces was infectious.

Erin clapped as Jeff shouted triumphantly, "I won't let you pass!"

That was when Nolan rose from his seat, pushing himself up with a low chuckle. "How about…" His voice deepened with playful menace as he stepped behind John, crouching low. "Two dragons!"

John's cheer was instant, squealing with delight as Nolan spread his arms wide like wings and joined the charge.

Jeff's eyes went wide, and his protest came with a laugh that nearly toppled him backward.

"No fair! No fair - two dragons!"

But still, he fought on, his little sword raised, his mother's voice ringing with praise behind him, and Nolan - father, dragon, and audience all at once - found himself caught between the stars outside and the brighter light within.

Moments Later

Nolan excused himself quietly, slipping out of the Observatory as John and Jeff's laughter echoed behind him. The corridor was quieter, hushed compared to the children's shouts of triumph and pretend battle. He had meant only to step into the restroom down the hall, but voices around the corner pulled his attention.

"…the Resolutes gone dark. The expeditionary fleet pulled back to Shanxi for repairs, but now - nothing. No signal in or out."

"You sure it's not just interference? Shanxi's comm signals are old tech-"

"Old doesn't explain a full blackout across the colony and the fleet. Something happened out there."

Nolan's hand curled into a fist at his side, the muscles in his arm tight as stone. He hadn't realized the pressure until he forced his fingers to unclench. It wasn't anger that settled in his chest - but fear. Fear colder and sharper than he had ever known.

Hannah wasn't like him. She had no strength beyond human limits, no gift of divinity in her blood. Fragile as a moth to a flame, like the dust to the wind, like his heart to her affection - and she was everything his heart belonged to.

When Nolan returned to the Observatory, Erin looked up from the booth, brow raised at his sudden reappearance. John and Jeff were back at their game, already lost in a new adventure, toy swords clashing as they defended imaginary castles.

Nolan's voice was steady, though urgency threaded beneath it. "Erin," he began, stepping closer. "Something came up with my employer. A supply run to a nearby colony. I'll be gone a few days." He glanced at the children, then back at her. "Could you watch John while I'm away?"

Her head tilted slightly, confusion softening her features. "Of course, but… is everything alright?"

He offered the faintest of smiles, one that never reached his eyes. "Just work. You've trusted me with Jeff. It's only fair I trust you with John."

That was enough for her. Erin nodded slowly. "We'll take good care of him. Don't worry."

Nolan's gaze lingered on his son, who squealed with laughter as Jeff shouted another triumphant line in their game. He didn't say a word. Didn't risk it. With a last look, he turned and walked out.

Minutes later - slipping through an unmonitored airlock - Nolan emerged into the silence of space. The station shrank behind him as he accelerated, his body cutting through the void with unrelenting speed. Stars blurred into streaks around him, but his course never wavered.

He was heading for Shanxi.

Heading for her.

Notes:

This note is urgent, so I hope most of the fans who tuned in throughout the past month reads the Authors Note.

I've just realized that I've mistakenly had Douglas have 4 grandchildren prior to when he was 'supposed' to have them. In canon, Ashley is the eldest, and her birth date is in 2158.

I'm not going to erase the grandchildren line out of Chapter 4's: This Is My Curse - but I will be reducing that line of grandchildren down to 2. This will mean Ashley will be born about 2 years before John in 2152, and Abby in 2153. (I don't believe Abby will be used much as a character in this story, but it's just for context) The rest of the grandchildren will be born in their respective years unless I change them again.

That's the main topic I wanted to get across. I believe I will be wrapping up the First (Second) Contact War in the next chapter, not with its overall conclusion, but for the impact around Shepards involvement themselves.

As always, let me know what your thoughts are.

Ciao~

TheLivingMyth

Chapter 9: Just A Man

Summary:

What is strength without purpose? What is duty without choice? As the dust settles and shadows close in, the past collides with the present, and a man must confront the chains of his own making - before they bind him forever.

Planet: Shanxi

Location: Shanxi Defense Command

Position: Central Command Bunker

The warning horn echoed through Shanxi's settlements, a mournful cry that seeped even into the walls of the underground command bunker. Screens flickered with incomplete data - orbital scans distorted, signals fractured. The surface trembled faintly from continued bombardments, shattering defenses and structures alike.

General Douglas Williams stood rigid at the central holo-table, eyes fixed on the shifting blue-and-red icons above its surface. A mapping of a shifting tide crawling above their skies. A comms officer near turned, his voice low.

"Sir… Commodore Hale is on the line."

Williams gave a swift nod, beckoning it through his personal console. The holo-table flared, resolving into the weary form of Commodore Hale. His face bore the paleness of a man dragged too close to despair, yet too stubborn to bow.

"General," Hale began. "I won't waste your time. You've seen the skies. You already know."

Williams' gaze hardened. "I know the fleet limped home half-dead, but I still expected to see you in our skies. Where are your ships, Commodore!"

A silence fell before them, and that was an answer enough - until he spoke.

"They came back, Williams. The ones who hit us at Relay 314. A larger fleet this time. Turians - that's what our Quarian allies call them." He exhaled sharply. "With nearly half of our systems in-op, we never stood a chance. We held them off as long as we could, but they cut through what was left of us. If we stay here, we'll all burn."

Williams' hands pressed into the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, a tone demanding, each syllable tempered against the urge to roar.

"You're telling me you're pulling out? You're leaving the colony exposed!"

"I'm telling you," Hale paused, quiet but unflinching, "that if I don't, you'll have no fleet at all to call on. I've already ordered a mayday and attempted to punch it through half a dozen networks. Nothing's getting out - whether it's the damage we took, or an interference they're causing, I don't know."

"And what would you have me tell the people here? That the fleet turned tail and left them to die?"

Another pause, one with twisted shame etched in his tongue.

"Tell them we'll be back. That we're not abandoning them - only buying time. If we make it past this interference, we can call reinforcements, and Shanxi itself may still have a chance."

The words rang hollow, and both men knew it. But Hale forced them out anyway, a man refusing to let silence be the last thing his ally heard.

"I'm sorry, Douglas. Hold them off as long as you can. We will return."

The feed stuttered, then collapsed into static.

For a long moment, Williams did not move. The command bunker hummed with muted panic around him - officers exchanging frantic updates, sensor technicians reporting unknown descending vessels, civilians calling in from settlements begging for guidance.

At last, Williams drew a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back, forcing every nerve in his body into discipline. The anger remained - coiled tight, trying to explode - but it would not serve here. His people needed more than rage.

"Signal every outpost and defense point. We are Shanxi. We will hold. No matter what comes through that sky, we will hold. They'll break themselves on us before we break on them."

His gaze shifted towards one of the defense officers. "Lieutenant, what's the status of our anti-air defense systems?"

"Systems are now online, sir. Awaiting orders." She answered.

"Good, activate cannons located in sectors Delta and Zulu. Lets keep these bastards guessing as long as possible on where to land their main forces."

The bunker stirred. Fear dulled but did not vanish - transformed into resolve. His people needed a rock, so he would be stone. Inside, Douglas Williams bore this responsibility alone.

"...and where are my goddamn marines? I want everyone of those killers with a rifle in their hands now!"

---

Two Days After Initial Orbital Bombardments

Location: Shanxi's Stratosphere

Position: Turian Drop-ship - Aelianus Vakarian

The dropship rattled as it cut through Shanxi's turbulent skies, the hum of its engines competing with the pounding in Aelianus Vakarian's chest. He sat strapped in with the rest of his unit, talons tapping against his rifle's casing, trying not to look like the wide-eyed recruit he once was.

To distract himself, he reached into the breast pocket of his cuirass, fingers brushing against the worn edges of a photograph. A solid copy, old-fashioned, unnecessary in an age of omni-tools and digital storage, yet irreplaceable.

The image was simple, yet heavy with meaning. A younger Aelianus, still stiff in his fresh-pressed uniform, mandibles set but proud. Cradled in his arms was an infant Garrus, bundled and blinking at the camera with wide, uncomprehending eyes - a grin stretched across. Behind them stood Ma and Pa, faces curved in open pride.

Their family legacy, now carried forward through him. And one day, that mantle would be passed to Garrus

Aelianus studied it. His little brother would never remember this day. But he knew, one eventual cycle, he might look at this same image and know what it meant. That the Vakarian blood line stood for more than just tradition.

The dropship jolted hard, turbulence biting as they punched through the stratosphere. The photo slipped from his grip, sliding down across the deck plating until it caught the boots of his sergeant.

"Careful there, Vakarian," the older Turian grunted, stooping to retrieve it.

His nameplate read Sergeant Varro Oraka, a career soldier near the start of his second enlistment. The faintest scar tracing one mandible. He turned the photo over in his hand, studying it with a tilt of his head.

"Family, huh?" Varro said, passing it back, a mixture of amusement and approval hinted in his tone. "Good thing to keep close. My parents aren't around anymore. It's just me and my older brother Septimus."

"Is he also military?" Aelianus managed to ask.

"Yeah, higher rank too. He just became a Colonel a few months back. Strong, charismatic, a rising star in the military. There's talk about promoting him again due to his impressive accomplishments and rare leadership traits. It's not often you see such pristine competence under someones command, perhaps once every few generations. Regardless, photos like this remind you of what you're fighting for - and who's going to be asking questions if you don't come back."

The squad chuckled, easing some of the tension as Aelianus took the photo and tucked it carefully back into his pocket. His eyes shifted in embarrassment, but also a flicker of pride.

Varro - amused at his subordinates bashfulness - let out a humored scoff.

"I'm just messing with ya kid. This job is nothing to lose your nerves over. We're just here to maintain order. You know, police work. Nothing more, nothing less. That's why they left me in charge, and not some know it all Second Lieutenant."

Aelianus nodded, acknowledged, but still, a flicker of nervousness remained.

Outside the viewport, streaks of debris scarred the heavens - some of it still burning up as it fell, the remains of a space battle that had gutted the alien fleet. The sight was both grim and mesmerizing.

'So this is them,' Aelianus thought. 'A species none of us even knew existed two weeks ago. And here I am, about to set foot on their world as its invader.'

"Eyes on me," Varro barked, voice sharp enough to snap everyone back to focus. "Orders are simple: subdue and control. They're primitives, but they're still primitives with teeth. Don't get sloppy."

Over comms, one of the more seasoned soldiers, Corporal Decius, chuckled. "Primitives or not, I'll take this over relay patrols any day. Planets don't shoot back."

"Not yet," muttered Lira, the youngest in the unit besides Aelianus. "Give them time, they always do."

"Relax, Lira," Decius shot back. "We'll be home swapping stories before the ink dries on the reports. Easy credits."

The dropship lurched as it touched down. Restraints clicked free, boots thudded onto the ramp. Shanxi's air hit Aelianus at once - warm, dry, tinged with the faint smoke of distant fires. Ahead stretched the outskirts of a settlement: weathered homesteads, fields gone fallow, silence hanging heavy.

First steps on alien soil. First steps into the enforcement of a galactic law he wasn't sure these people had even heard of.

They advanced in formation, boots crunching over brittle terrain. Aelianus kept his eyes moving, rifle angled low but ready. Every shadow between the houses, every overturned plow or broken fence looked like it might spring to life.

But instead of resistance, they found familiarity.

One of the homes more inward had been gutted and repurposed into a command center. Its porch now sagged beneath crates of munitions. Cables snaked through broken windows, feeding power into makeshift comm relays. Turians lounged in the yard, some cleaning weapons, others setting up defensive grids.

Decius gave a low whistle. "Looks like we're late to the party."

"That's good," Lira replied. "That means we're still alive."

Varro gestured them forward. As they approached, a corporal waved them down from the porch, wry humor etched in his tone.

"You're the perimeter team? Don't bother. This sector's locked down. Command's running comms from here now. Still, brass wants the secure area doubled before nightfall - no slacking."

Varro gave a faint nod. "Understood. We'll report in."

Aelianus's eyes wandered as they passed. A soldier sat polishing his rifle on an overturned toy chest. Another leaned casually against the railing where a family might have once shared meals. The efficiency was undeniable. And yet, there was something in it that twisted the wrong way - a kind of quiet desecration.

Inside, the air was cooler, the familial warmth stripped away and replaced with the hum of datapads and command chatter. At the far end, a Turian officer stood behind a table cluttered with maps and reports. His eyes flicked up as the squad entered.

"You're the perimeter team?"

"Yes, sir." Varro answered. "Orders?"

The commanding officer dismissed the datapad in his hand.

"As of now, little needs doing here. This settlement is quiet. Those primitives who remained have been disarmed and placed under watch. They're cooperative enough - fear makes them so." He leaned forward slightly. "Your orders are to patrol the area and hold position until the main force secures the planetary headquarters. Once that falls, the rest follows."

A frustrated sigh escaped the officers lips, clearly agitated by a missing piece of the puzzle.

"No signs of quarians on the surface though. Intelligence now believes the suit-rats fled with the surviving fleet. Still I advise you all to keep sharp. If they're really here, they'll be ready."

Before Varro could reply, the thrum of boots and raised voices cut through the air from outside. Those inside rushed towards the commotion. Aelianus froze mid-step as the sight of two figures staggered into view.

Turians - barely standing.

One leaned hard on the other, dragging a half-dead stride. Their armor was blackened and split, streaked with blood and dirt. Eight of them had left hours ago. Only two returned.

Every soldier nearby stiffened, the easy calm of a secured sector collapsing into brittle silence.

The commanding officer stepped forward, talons clenched around his datapad until it groaned under the pressure.

"Report," he snapped, voice more demanding than questioning.

The less-injured of the two straightened, his chest heaving, face heavy with exhaustion. "We were on our assigned patrol route… western edge of the settlement. We noticed a homestead, isolated - easy to miss." He swallowed hard. "We thought it was cleared by previous surveillance, and approached without caution."

Aelianus shifted, rifle drawn tighter to his chest. He could already feel where this was going, though part of him didn't want to hear it.

"It was… a massacre. They opened fire. Bullets. Kinetic rounds. We were staggering carelessly in the open. Shields failed almost instantly. Half of us were dead before we even raised rifles."

A hush fell before them. The thought of primitive weaponry cutting down Hierarchy-trained soldiers so swiftly. It sounded... unlikely.

"We tried to return fire… but there was no cover. Just an open field. So we went prone, used the dead for cover." His eyes dropped in shame. "They picked us off anyway."

The second survivor let out a guttural cough, but still gave a shallow nod - confirming the story.

The officer's eyes narrowed. "How many?"

"I can't say. It happened too fast, but… there were a few muzzles lighting up. Maybe a small squad, but it didn't sound like it."

The officer growled, not in the mood for riddles. "What do you mean, 'didn't sound like it'?"

The soldier briefly hesitated.

"I can't exactly say without sounding like a fool, but the gun-fire... some of it felt - automatic. Like it wasn't being handled... but controlled." He shook his head. "I wish I could say more. They killed the rest," the survivor finished. "We… retreated. Barely."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then the commanding officer's mandibles pulled tight in fury. His fist slammed against the side of the house, the wooden beam cracking under armored strength.

"Unacceptable! I lose men over a simple containment?!" His glare cut across the assembled troops before settling on Varro. "Take a detachment. Sweep that homestead. You will burn out whatever hole they're hiding in. Do not return until the area is pacified."

Varro gave a crisp nod. "Yes, sir! Form up. We leave immediately."

The survivors were led past, medics rushing in to drag them toward a makeshift triage. Aelianus's gaze lingered, chest heavy. He wanted to ask if they'd seen the eyes of the aliens who held the guns. Were they desperate? Full of hate? Or something else?

Instead, he tightened his grip on his rifle and fell into step beside his squad.

The march began. Dust rose beneath their boots as they moved westward, away from the security of the occupied settlement and toward the unknown. Around him, the squad traded small talk to mask tension.

"Bullets," muttered Torvan, one of the older privates. "Like something out of a museum. And they still cut down six of ours."

"Means they've got bite," another replied, voice pitched low. "Primitives, sure. But desperate primitives? That's worse."

Varro kept silent at the front. His presence alone pressed the squad onward.

Aelianus said nothing. His thoughts spun too quickly.

The family photo pressed against his chestplate felt heavier now, as if Garrus himself were watching - silent, and judging.

---

Location: Retired Shepard Household

Position: Dining Room - Hannah Shepard

The homestead was quiet again, but Hannah knew it wouldn't last.

She sat crouched by the window, watching the fields where the Turians had fallen. The silence outside pressed in, broken only by the faint creak of settling boards and the low hum of her makeshift rigs. Pulley-lines ran across the building like veins, each one tied to a rifle braced in shadowed corners, aimed toward the flanks and frontal approach. It wasn't elegant, but it worked.

Her fingers checked the knots, the triggers, the gear she'd laid out like a ritual. A pouch of old magazines. A knife dulled by use. Her dead father's aged shotgun she accidentally left behind. How glad she was that it was still here. Still protecting her. Its wooden stock is clearly scarred, but unbroken.

She would not let them take this place. This homestead had been more than just a roof to sleep under.

It was a home.

She could hear them. Nolan's heavy boots thudding on the porch, their confessions pouring under a star filled sky. Every board, every corner had been touched by their lives. Now these aliens thought they could strip it bare, turn it into another of their soulless outposts.

No, she would not see it reduced to another abandoned husk under the boots of alien invaders who dared to set foot here. Not after what they've done to the Selani, to Nivara.

And now - in the frontier of space, in a place that no longer sheltered her family - they would do the same and desecrate the good in her world.

Her lips thinned. 'Not here. Not this one.'

Let them come. She had already cut down their first wave, and she would do it again. Not for glory, not for vengeance, but for the stubborn truth that this was hers.

Hers to defend, hers to deny them.

The sound of boots approached in the distance. She pulled her shotgun close, sliding her thumb across the worn grip, and whispered into the quiet:

"You're not taking this from me."

And with that, Hannah Shepard prepared her home for war.

---

Location: Shanxi's Orbit

Position: Outer Sphere - Nolan Shepard

Shanxi sprawled beneath him, a scarred world of fire and smoke rising from broken settlements. The human fleet that had once patrolled these skies was gone. In its place, angular Turian warships swarmed in orbit, their dark hulls glinting in the sunlight, a cold and alien presence over what had once been home.

Nolan's stomach churned. Even from this height, the devastation pressed in, but he refused to show the slightest reaction. He adjusted his flight, cutting through the atmosphere with a blur of motion, air scorching past him, the planet's heat and gravity testing his limits for mere moments before durability laughed it off.

His eyes scanned the broken towns below. Smoke spiraled from what were once fields and homes, twisted metal and shattered walls scattered in the sun. And yet, despite the chaos, he forced himself to deny the one thought he could not banish: Hannah.

'She's alive,' he told himself, fists clenching. 'She has to be.'

She wasn't Viltrumite, but she was strong. A warrior. A leader.

She would last long enough for him to reach her, he just didn't know how long that would be.

A surge of clarity struck him. If she had made it, if she had survived, there was one place he knew she would be.

Their home, where all of this began.

With a soar that split the air, Nolan dove, blurring across the sky like a white-and-grey streak of vengeance and hope.

He didn't slow. He didn't hesitate.

Every beat of his heart, every flex of his muscles, was dedicated to one certainty: he would reach her.

And no Turian fleet, no fire from the ground, no obstacle in the galaxy would stop him from finding her...

He could only hope it wasn't too late.

---

Location: Shanxi Defense Command

Position: Central Command Bunker

The garrison's central command was alive with chaos. Explosions rattled the outer walls, distant sirens pierced the air, and reports from the field arrived faster than they could be digested. Settlements surrounding Shanxi had been repeatedly bombed; enemy forces pressed closer, and the marines outside had done what they could. Air superiority belonged to the Turians now, and with each passing moment, the window for victory shrank.

Lines of defense had been pushed to what was likely their last bastion, medical wings overflowed with wounded, engineers scrambled to patch faltering systems, and strategists whispered in urgency. Yet amid the noise, General Williams remained calm, his presence a silent anchor amid the storm.

One strategist, tone full of desperation, cracked under the pressure.

"S-Sir, our forces are in full retreat back to the last line. They'll be on top of us before sunset! What are your orders?"

Williams paused, taking in the chaos around him. The shuffling of stretchers passed through as hollow eyes of the dying struggled to hold on. The sight pained him, though he did not show it.

His gaze fell upon a mapped table with a mirrored holographic battlefield. Red dots surrounded their position and continuously updated like a shrinking noose. This fight was as good as over, unless...

He turned to a nearby security engineer. "Are all visual feeds operational?"

"Yes, sir." the man replied after a quick check.

"Disconnect them. All cameras. Make them inoperative until further notice."

The engineer hesitated, confusion was plain, but carried out the order. Another strategist's lips twitched unconvinced at his superiors actions.

"Sir… what are you thinking?"

Williams said nothing. He walked to the communication console and spoke with quiet authority, "Pull every remaining marine from the front lines. Bring them here, back inside the Garrison. Make sure they rest and eat. They'll fight another day. I'll see to it."

With that, he turned away, leaving questions unanswered.

The corridors beyond central command were crowded with the wounded and weary. Marines slumped against walls or lay in makeshift cots, eyes tracking him as he passed. Defeat radiated like a physical toll, pleading for an end - for relief. Each glance struck him like a blade, but he did not falter. He had lived over a millennium; and they... they had yet to see a lifetime. He would not abandon them. Not now.

Not anymore.

At the entrance, a young marine staggered in carrying a comrade draped over his shoulder. He stepped before Williams, halting him from advancing further.

"Sir!" the man called as if trying to stop him.

Williams rested a hand on the marine's chest, steady and warm. "It's alright, this v battle will end soon. Not forever - but for now. You'll fight again. And next time, the odds will be more even."

The marine said nothing, only watched as Williams passed and stepped through the heavy reinforced doors. They sealed behind him with a hiss, cutting him off from the garrison. Leaving his troops to draw strength from the quiet certainty of their general's resolve.

Outside, the smoke hung thick in the air. The wind carried the scent of scorched earth and burned metal. He drew a long breath, letting the weight of responsibility settle into something sharp and deadly. The battle was far from over, but in this very moment, he would face this in their stead.

Williams was no fool. He knew the risks better than most hybrids alive. Any slip, any witness who saw too much instantly meant death - not only for him, but for those around. Secrecy was paramount above all else. And mistakes... mistakes were never forgiven.

His thoughts drifted - briefly, painfully - to his wife, Cecilia. To his son, Aaron, and Lisbeth, the daughter-in-law he'd welcomed like blood. To the grandchildren - Ashley and Abby - who once climbed his shoulders with melodic laughter.

He would never see them again. Never explain why he chose this path, or what he truly was. The affection of his wife, the pride of his children, the joy of his grandchildren - gone. Just like before. Just like it had always been. Sacrificed, always 'for the preservation of the Viltrumite way of life'.

The sound of boots brought him back. Dozens of Turians spilled into view, muzzles rising as one.

Williams drew another steady breath.

Though the truth here would forever remain buried in secrecy, he came to terms long ago that if this was to be his final act as General Douglas Williams of the Systems Alliance...

 

then it would be a grand one.

 

For one suspended heartbeat, no one moved.

Then he did.

To the Turians, it was as if the air itself exploded.

In a blur too fast to follow, he crashed into them, tearing through ranks with inhuman precision. Muzzles shattered, armor split, bodies crumpled. Blood sprayed the dirt as confusion spiraled into panic. Many shouted of shadows, of ghosts, of something impossible moving among them. Those who managed a glimpse wouldn't have the opportunity to report.

None would survive long enough to understand.

---

Location: Retired Shepard Household

Position: Inner Fields - Aelianus Vakarian

The air was thick with smoke and dust, every burst of gunfire sparked against the battered walls of the homestead. Muzzles blazed from shattered windows, forcing Aelianus and his squad to dive for the dirt. They settled into the field behind improvised barricades.

"Suppressing fire - advance by two!" Varro Oraka barked. "Shields forward! Keep pressure on those firing points!"

Two turians lifted their ballistic shields and pushed ahead in perfect lockstep, rounds pinging and sparking off their plating. Behind them, a line surged forward a few meters at a time, rifles barking in disciplined bursts.

The building now looked less like a farmhouse and more of a bunker, its walls pocked and scarred, its shutters hanging half-loose but still spitting fire back with a defiance that stung Aelianus more than he cared to admit.

"Left side! They're focusing fire!" Lira called out.

"I see it. Rotate the shield wall!" Varro answered.

Their comms buzzed, and Decius voice growled in frustration. "Where the hell's a biotic when you need one."

Still, the turians moved like a machine, calculated and drilled, yet the resistance inside remained maddeningly stubborn. Every advance was paid for in blood; every meter gained meant another squadmate dragged back as their shields fell upon continued exposure to gun-fire.

Aelianus crouched low, rifle pressed tight to his chest. His fingers flexed unconsciously against the trigger guard as he tracked movement in the windows. A shadow, a muzzle flash. He squeezed off a burst. Wood splintered, dust spat, but no target fell.

He gritted his teeth in frustration at the miss.

This was supposed to be simple. A show of force to bring an upstart colony to heel. But these aliens clung to their ground like cornered beasts. And inside that home, he knew it wasn't just a soldier. He could feel it in the way the fire came, frantic yet purposeful. Defiant and protecting.

Another voice crackled over the comms, sharp with strain.

"Sergeant, north side is weak. I can breach it!"

"Negative! Hold your position until suppression is complete!" Varro snapped back. "We don't rush into nests blind."

Aelianus's mandibles twitched at the order. His gut rebelled against it. He just wanted this finished - swift, clean, done. Yet the longer the homestead endured, the more it gnawed at him. Whoever was inside... was supposed to be meaningless. The hierarchy demanded obedience, not sentiment.

Beneath the irritation, something heavier took root. A hesitation he could not name. Each time he sighted a shadow in the window, each time the defiant rattles of their rifles answered back, he imagined faces - eyes.

Not twisted with hatred, but set with something harder: resistance, perseverance. A fire that no barrage had yet managed to extinguish.

His rifle trembled, slight but undeniable. He stilled it, forcing the weakness down. And in the silence that followed, memory intruded - the voice of his father, sharp and commanding, words etched into him since youth:

 

Aelianus, listen well. Hesitation is betrayal. Mercy dulls the blade. To falter is to dishonor the chain that binds us all. We are not asked to understand, only to endure. Your purpose is not yours to question - it is yours to serve.

You carry our name, our lineage, our history. Do not stain it with weakness. A Vakarian stands firm, follows orders, and does what must be done.

Always.

 

Yet still, as the ballistic shield surged another pace forward under converting fire, that weight in his chest did not leave. Another look at the homestead, at its scarred but unbroken face, he thought - not for the first time...

 

'If it were my home... would I not do the same?'

 

His stupor now shattered, realization dawned as he noticed they were now within throwing range of the building.

"Stack up, shields forward!" Varro barked, voice cutting sharp through the gunfire. "Prime grenades, on my mark!"

"Ready!" Many called out in unison

"Throw!"

Grenades arced into shattered windows. Seconds later, the blast came at once - glass, timber, and dust vomiting outward. The building groaned before collapsing inward with a bone-rattling crack.

Silence followed, plaguing the air as realization dawned. And then laughter filled the air.

"Guess we breached the whole damn place."

"Hope the bastards die buried alive."

As relief filled the lungs of all, Aelianus stayed rooted - uncertain. He stepped closer, eyes dragging over the ruin. It looked less like victory and more like a grave. His chest tightened with guilt he could not shake.

A firm hand fell on his shoulder, Varro.

"You did good, Vakarian." He smiled. "You did good."

Aelianus didn't respond. Not even a nod.

Varro turned, snapping his comm active. "Sound off, give me a headcount."

 

*Static*

 

Varro frowned, and tried again. "Squad, respond."

 

*Static*

 

Then came the screams.

On the other side, shapes buckled in the dust cloud. A turian dropped, his torso caved in before he even hit the ground. Another was yanked upward, head severed in a spray of crimson. Panic cut through as they turned inward, weapons raised, eyes flaring.

"What the hell is happening?!" Lira's voice cracked - terror bound.

Movement flickered at the edge of sight - fast, wrong. Too quick to track. Aelianus's pulse spiked, rifle trembling in his grasp. He tried to aim but found no target.

Only shadows. Only blood.

And then... silence.

Through the haze, a figure emerged. A man, broad-shouldered, calm. His steps are heavy. Each foot etched against the rubble as if he owned the battlefield. He was drenched in Turian blood, spattered across him like paint.

 

Nolan Shepard

 

Lira froze, breath hitching. "Spirits…"

Nolan didn't answer. He reached her in a blink. Both hands clamped over her skull, and squeezed. Aelianus heard bone strain, her cut-off gasp. Then crunch. Her body dropped, silenced before she could scream.

Aelianus staggered back, knees weak, bile crawling up his throat. His rifle rattled in his hands. His training screamed - aim, fire, act - but his body refused.

Varro roared, snapping his weapon up. His burst of fire hammered Nolan's chest. Bullets sparked and fell harmlessly, like rain against steel.

Nolan turned, calm. His gaze met Varro's

The sergeant's fire slowed to a stop. His weapon lowered. And his eyes... they trembled upon dawning realization.

Nolan plucked the rifle free, shattered it like twigs, and drove his hand clean through Varro's chest. His fingers closed around his heart, and yanked.

Varro collapsed, dead before he hit the ground. The last thing he got to see was this creature crushing his heart before darkness consumed him.

One by one, his squadmates fell in a grotesque display of speed and strength, swatted down like mere insects. This was no longer a fight, it was a slaughter. He could only watch as every law of strength and discipline drilled into him shatter beneath this nightmare.

Moments later, he was all that remained - and at last the man turned.

Blood dripped down his forearms, pooling at his feet. His gaze found Aelianus. A controlled rage accompanied by an icy chill and resolve greeted him. Aelianus, bound by those eyes, felt every ounce of strength leave him. He wasn't a soldier anymore. He wasn't even prey.

He was nothing.

It felt slow, agonizingly slow. Each step the man took cracked like thunder in Aelianus's ears, louder, heavier, decisive. His fate marched toward him, inevitable.

His body reacted on its own - lungs pulling frantic gulps of air. He stumbled back, boots scraping against rubble. With trembling hands, he snapped his rifle up, and fired. The shot struck center mass...

 

Nothing

 

Another step back, another shot...

 

Nothing

 

Nolan didn't flinch, only approached.

Aelianus's rifle dipped as his arms failed him. His finger twitched on the trigger, sending a round harmlessly into the dirt. He dropped the weapon, its weight suddenly becoming too much. Sensation beneath his abdomen ceased to be, collapsing onto his rear, and scrambled backwards through the dust.

Nolan was on top of him now.

His battered family portrait slipped loose from Aelianus's pocket, sliding across the rubble-strewn ground until it came to rest at Nolans boots.

He stopped.

For the first time since Nolan had appeared, he... hesitated.

Nolan glanced down, then crouched. Blood-streaked fingers plucked the photo delicately from the dirt. His eyes scanned it, the hard steel of his expression softening - just barely.

Aelianus remained frozen as his very doom paused in clear reach.

Nolans gaze lingered on the image. Family. The small infant nestled in Aelianus's arms. Behind them, figureheads - parents, lovingly posing behind them.

His eyes flicked sideways toward Aelianus, the picture still held between his fingers, as if weighing the man before him against life in the photo. Merging the thoughts of what was with what could be.

For the first time, Nolan's gaze held something other than wrath. Not mercy, not forgiveness - but recognition. A spitting image he had never dared compare himself to. The same bond, the same stubborn will - under a different skin.

"Your… family?" Nolan's voice rumbled.

To human ears, it would have sounded like harsh clicks and guttural growls. But to Aelianus, it was clear. Words, carried in his own tongue. He twitched, eyes widening in disbelief. The universal translator hadn't stirred - the man was speaking Turian.

"You… can speak our language?" he managed, fear still threading his voice, but curiosity breaking through.

Nolan's expression didn't shift.

"When you live as long as I, you find time to learn new tricks. Linguistics being one of them."

Aelianus had to force his words out. "Who… who are you? What... are you?"

Nolan did not answer. His gaze lingered on the picture, thumb brushing over the stained image. The infant's wide eyes looked back at him, unblinking. They reminded him too much of John at that age - curious, trusting, unbroken.

Aelianus pressed again, desperation mounting. "Why are you here? Why... why am I still alive?"

Still, Nolan gave no answer. His eyes remained fixed, drawn deeper into memory. A weight pressed down on Nolan's chest, one he could not speak aloud.

Finally, his gaze slid from the photo to Aelianus. And yet, even as his eyes met the Turians, his thoughts weren't here. They lingered elsewhere - drawn back to another face, another boy.

 

He closed his eyes, and darkness greeted him. But still, the sight of both Garrus and John remained - paper and memory, side by side. A deafening silence, breaking only on the last thought, uncertain:

 

How could I possibly hurt you?

 

Nolan's eyes drifted from the photo in his hand to the ruins of the homestead. Smoke curled from the shattered beams, the once-living walls now nothing but jagged rubble. He did not need to confirm it - he knew.

Hannah.

His Hannah.

She must be buried under there, broken and still. The thought struck deeper than any blade. His breath shuddered, anger flared, fist clenched, demanding release. His body screamed for violence, to tear apart the final member of the Turian squad that caused this, until the ground itself was slick with the answer to his grief.

But in his hand, the photo trembled - tiny eyes staring back at him, reminding him of what could still be spared.

His eyes traveled, a battle clearly present within - restraint against vengeance, recognition against judgment.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and harsh.

"Go..."

Nolans gaze never left the rubble, as though afraid to truly face the Turian still cowering at his feet.

"...before I change my mind."

Before Aelianus could act upon his mercy, a new voice cut through, one neither of the two expected.

"Tell me, Nolan... when did you learn to mistake weakness for mercy?"

The two's gaze snapped upward. For Nolan, his chest tightened upon realizing one of the last people he'd ever expect to be directly involved in human matters had come.

Athena

She glided down effortlessly, an image of authority framed against the burning sky. Stopping several meters above the ground, she hovered above Nolan and Aelianus.

"Athena?!" Nolan managed, still not believing his eyes.

For Aelianus, the sight was beyond comprehension. It wasn't an illusion, but it was beyond bizarre. There was no jetpack, no hidden thruster, no wings. This... this was impossible. A being simply hovering, suspended in the air as though the laws of physic bent in deference to her will. Words refused to come.

Athena's gaze narrowed. "Your hesitation betrays you. This... thing, is not what I've designed. You've been corrupted, lessened into a creature conflicted by its own sentiment. Did you forget what we are, or must I remind you."

Nolan remained silent. His lips parted, but no words came.

Her voice softened, but not with kindness. "Nolan... you're more than the average Viltrumite. You see, I was given a mission - a mission that became my entire life - entrusted to me by the Empress herself. She wanted me to forge the greatest warrior our kind would ever see. A test of will. A challenge I found befitting."

She turned her gaze to the horizon, hands folding behind her back as if reciting holy truth.

"She gave me a boy. Reckless. Feral. Teeth bared against the galaxy but no discipline to aim them. For thousands of years - I hammered him, sharpened him - molded him into something greater."

Her eyes snapped, still soft.

"I told myself, 'maybe one day', this reckless child would truly follow me as I taught him. And when he did, together we'd carve out something greater - a tomorrow so brilliant that even the Empress would have to acknowledge it. And then High Command would truly see. I knew you could change the galaxy, Nolan. Not with brute force alone, but with something more - clarity. You were to be a warrior not just of strength, but of the mind. To see the game before it was played. To know the answer before the question was asked."

She approached and stopped in front of him. Not once did her gaze falter from his.

"Maybe one day, I thought, I would finally reach you. That I would build the incompetence you held into vision, into will, into something worthy beyond the stars themselves."

Her voice fell into a whisper.

"That boy was you, Nolan. You are my work. My triumph. My greatest achievement. And I believed it. I still believe it - in you. With every lesson. Every scar. Every trial. You were supposed to be the proof of me... and now, I don't know what I see."

The ground trembled faintly, and then the sky above Shanxi bloomed with fire. A chain reaction flared across the thermosphere, blossoms of light snuffed out in an instant as Turian warships shattered into fragments. Even from the surface, the flashes burned themselves into their pupils.

Aelianus staggered at the sight. He knew that formation - ships of the Hierarchy, reduced to wreckage.

"Spirits…" he whispered, the word dry in his throat.

Nolan's eyes followed the carnage but carried no surprise, only a hollow, distant ache.

Athena, however, only smiled faintly, as if this were confirmation of something expected.

"It seems our friend Douglas finally made his grand exit," she mused. "Let's hope he didn't leave any loose ends. Otherwise…" She flicked her gaze to Nolan, a predator's gleam in her eye. "…you know what must be done."

Nolan didn't respond, only thought. Williams. The man closest to what he'd call a friend. The hybrid who had stood for humanity's survival while hiding his own truth. He had finished it - his double life, his facade rooted by family, everything - burned away in one final act of heroism as he returned to the void.

"Don't drift." Her voice hummed

Nolan blinked and realized she was no longer before him, but directly behind Aelianus. So close that the Turian hadn't even sensed her until now. The sudden awareness jolted him. Aelianus turned slightly, only to see her shadow loom, suffocating.

Her gaze continued to linger on Nolan. Only her head tilted, slightly.

"What are you waiting for?"

His eyes narrowed. He knew what she implied, he just didn't know if he could act upon them.

Momentarily, Athena circled Aelianus, studying him with a detached curiosity, then stepped close to Nolan.

Too close.

She reached up, her fingers dragging lightly across the ridges of his chest. Her touch was familiar - an echo of countless hours spent together. One that bordered a threshold beyond the acts of simple master and apprentice or friends befitting.

"Hey, look at me."

Her voice lowered into something else, breath brushing against his ear with hints of pleasure. Their eyes locked, and within them Nolan found himself captivated once again by those that held cold, yet undeniable affection.

"You know why we do this. He's nothing to us, Nolan. Harmless, yes. But knowledge is a disease. If he speaks of us, it spreads. And that? That's a threat."

She leaned in closer, lips now brushing against his skin - fingers drawing faint circles on his collar bone

"Until we cover our tracks, he's still a risk. That is... unless he's dead."

Athena knew the pull she had, the gravity that no amount of discipline could erase. She had seen it in his eyes, the way he carried himself around her. After all, she felt the same, though she never returned it. Duty always came first. Yet now, she wields her charm over him as high as any weapon.

With Nolan, her captivation did not bind him alone. Much like before, he struggled to move through a wave of uncertainty. All at once, a sense of duty, of directive, of Athena's affection, of Hannah's love, of his family's future, of the children who stared - it all gnawed him, pulling his soul in opposite directions.

Athena, he could feel her clutches trying to bind him down, keeping him from falling astray. He could feel it in her breath. It was warm against his ear, a warmth that caused him to shudder. A memory stirred - of younger days, of fleeting thoughts that she could have been more than a mentor, more than a friend. That perhaps there was something there...

But that time was gone. That desire belonged to a boy who had not yet met Hannah. And now? His heart was no longer his to give. It had already been claimed by someone else... someone worthy.

His hand rose, not in violence, but in finality. He pushed her away - not roughly, but with undeniable rejection.

"No." His voice was steady.

Athena froze. Her lips parted slightly, repeating it back. "No?"

Once, Nolan would have looked away, unable to face her wrath. Once, he would have followed, tailing her words like scripture.

But no longer.

He met her eyes directly, and what she saw there was different: not the boy she had shaped, but a man who had chosen his own path.

"What more does any of this prove? No one will believe him. They'll just throw him in a psych ward." His gaze fell upon the rubble. "My wife... she could be dead. His friends... slaughtered by my hands! The blood of old... it still stains me." His eyes hardened, now staring into hers. "If this is what it means to be your 'ace' - then I renounce it. I renounce you."

Athena's voice lowered, lacking the same certainty. "Nolan, listen-"

"No." His reply silenced her. "I'm done listening to you, Athena. Whatever this is… whatever this was, it's over."

For a moment, Athena's eyes betrayed something rare.

Not fury. Not command.

But pain.

The proud arch of her brow faltered, her lips trembled just slightly. She had never been told "no" from him before, never been denied the authority she thought eternal.

Then the wound closed, replaced by fury. She turned sharply, and in the blink of an eye, was no longer before Nolan. She stood behind Aelianus, her shadow falling over him before he even realized she was there. A sharp gasp rattled from his throat as her boot slammed down, pinning his head to the dirt.

Nolan's eyes widened, his hand lifting instinctively, as if the gesture alone might stop her.

"Wai-"

 

Crunch.

 

The sound was sickening now. The ground darkened beneath him, a mixture of blood and gray matter soaking into the soil. Aelianus never saw it coming, never even noticed the shift before his world ended.

Athena twisted her boot once, cruelly intentional, then lifted it free. Her gaze returned to Nolan - cold, almost triumphant.

"You've lost your edge and allowed your feelings to cloud reason. If you can't see that..." her lip curled, "then perhaps you should ask your dead 'wife' if mercy served her well."

Nolan's eyes flared. "Hey-"

She scoffed, dismissing his spark of defiance. "Oh please, put your emotions aside."

With a sharp scrape, she flicked the brain matter from her boot, wiping the last of Aelianus into the dirt.

"You were built for so much more than this. I told you the truth - what they doubted, what they required. The answer was literally given to you. And you've failed, miserably. So this is where it ends. You've chosen weakness over discipline, sensibility over truth. Fine. I'm finished with you."

She stepped closer.

"From this point on, you stand alone. I won't protect you anymore. The voice of reason that parried judgement, that's gone. When they come, they will question your loyalty, and you'll have no one to speak in your defense. You want freedom? I'll give you that. Just know that when they pass judgment, I hope you will remember this moment."

Nolans frown twisted, each word punctuated with the weight of years spent obeying.

"Oh please, you've always been so selfish, so full of pride. I was loyal to you! In your presence! In your absence! When those like Baldur tested your rule, I stood alone in their path and bled for everything you've built! And what do I get? Nothing but the weight of consequence and distrustful eyes. Do you realize what that does to someone after centuries of being ostracized?"

His gaze lowered. "You've never once had my back. You say you have, but it was just to give yourself a pretty resume. I don't deny the fact that you've never softened the aftermath, relieved the consequences, or lightened the load... but it was only to fulfill yourself when I was needed!"

His eyes snapped back. "And don't think I've forgotten, how I once thought of you as more than a mentor. How you've led me to believe there was more to us than what met the eye... well that boy is gone. So I guess we are finished. Everything I once held dear about you. Your false affection, your manipulations - they won't touch me anymore. I'll make sure of that."

Athena stiffened slightly as she regarded him.

"I can't believe I've mistook you for a champion. I was too blind to truly see what a waste of effort I've spent. Do not misunderstand me. I don't mourn or pity you. I merely… acknowledge the futility of trying to shape what cannot - or will not - be shaped. You've disappointed the expectations placed upon you, Nolan. But know this: disappointment is not weakness… it is a lesson. One I will carry, even if you cannot."

He scoffed, clearly sensing her deflection.

"No, Athena… there is no lesson here. Only difference," he said, edged with certainty. "The difference is that I know what I'm fighting for. I know the lives I protect, the purpose I've found. While you? You fight to be seen, to be accepted… to secure your place as a designee, a figurehead within High Command. A suck-up cloaked in authority."

He stepped closer, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Tell me this - since human legend holds you so wise, so far above the rest - why is your life spent so isolated? No bonds to anchor you, no one to call your own. Face it, you're alone! You've always been. And every lesson you think you've taught… every lesson you claim I should have learned, it was all just a charade to enjoy sinking your dirty nails around. You may shape warriors, mentor prodigies, enforce will - but you cannot… fix what you refuse to see within yourself."

For a fleeting instant, Athena's composure cracked. Nolan's words struck too deep, too precise to dismiss. Her lips parted, then pressed into a hard line as her chest rose with a sharp, angry breath. She met his gaze, caught between wounded pride and rising fury.

"What the hell do you know. You think this is some game? A simulation built off of trust? Don't think for a second you can lecture me as if you know what's at stake." She huffed, turning away. "Why the hell should I care. You're just a man, Nolan. You'll always be. Don't ever think about calling me again, you've lost that right."

For a heartbeat, she lingered, as if warred by something unspoken. And then, without looking back, she launched upward. The air cracked in her wake as she pierced the clouds, vanishing into orbit. Her gaze never softened, but as she breached the void, a single tear slipped free, freezing, then breaking away into the endless dark - leaving Nolan to face everything alone, like he always had.

Nolan's gaze tracked her until the last flicker of light vanished into the distant sky. Relief settled in his chest - strange, but sharper than guilt. At last, he could let her go.

Then... movement. A groan, a shift of stone and splintered wood. His breath hitched. The rubble of the collapsed homestead stirred. He was on it in an instant, tearing debris away with desperate hands until a figure pushed through. Bloodied, bruised, scarred… but alive.

Hannah.

"Hannah," Nolan breathed, he pulled her into his arms almost immediately.

She blinked up at him through the haze, dazed and wary. "Nolan?" Her whisper trembled. "Is that… really you?"

"Yes." He let her go, quickly examining her. "Are you hurt? I mean, obviously you are, but I mean any life-threatening injuries, missing limbs, fingers, punctu-"

Her palms rested upon his mouth, stopping him from further babbling off.

"You're speaking too quick. It's giving me a damn headache alongside this concussion."

After a moment, she took a deep breath, already feeling the pressure lighten up, if only slightly.

"Nolan… how did you even get here?" she managed, releasing her palm from his mouth

A faint smile revealed itself under the mask. "Does that really matter?"

For a heartbeat she only stared, lost in how simply he put it.

"Yes, Nolan. It kinda does matter."

Without elaborating further, she leaned into his frame, allowing herself to melt under his touch. She knew he wouldn't answer him no matter how hard she pried, but right now that didn't matter. This was more than enough after what just happened.

"...Where's John?"

 

Well - almost enough.

---

Location: Beyond Shanxi's Orbit

 

Douglas Williams was no longer groundside. No longer tearing through ranks of Turian infantry, no longer drenched in the blood of another battlefield.

The memory lingered, the sight of warships splitting the heavens above Shanxi. A fleet built for orbital bombardment and planetary confinement, silenced by an unforeseen force. That had been his final act: to hurl himself through fire and steel, puncturing through enough warships until the skies grew frantic causing the fleet scattered in confusion. This should buy his men some time, hopefully enough to reassess their plan - or for reinforcements to arrive. He could only wonder.

Now, Williams drifted through the void, his body a scarred figure against the stars. His eyes were hollow, rimmed red where tears had burned themselves dry. The pain had long passed words - now etching itself into psychological ruins as he soared towards Viltrumite space.

It was then he felt it. A shift in the space around him. Another presence.

From the starlight ahead, a figure emerged - cutting sharp and sure against the abyss. The person was young, strong-willed. There was a fire about him that reminded Williams of himself long ago.

Jack Harper.

The name had weight, even if the man behind it was still new among Viltrumite ranks. Barely over two hundred years of age, he remained unproven, but was already watched with wary respect. Harper's reputation was building fast - too fast. A man cunning as much as his strength. His words whispered in ways most dared not tread - a black sheep of some sorts.

"Williams, it's a pleasure to see you again."

Williams' gaze narrowed, cold and unreadable.

"What are you doing here?"

Harper didn't respond to his question, instead his voice carried something softer - like a man testing the waters.

"You know, time and time again, people like us continue to do what no others could. History will never know it, pure-bloods will never sympathize with it, but I acknowledge it. I respect it - understand it. That weight… it isn't light. To bear it once is hard." His voice dipped, now directed to him alone. "To bear it four times... I can't imagine the toll."

Williams' eyes didn't waver. He let the words hang, offering no answer, no recognition.

"You're not supposed to be here." He reemphasizes, stricter than before.

Harper reacted this time, just slightly - into something between a smirk and a knowing smile.

"Supposed to be? Maybe not. But I've never been good at being where I'm told."

"You tread close to treason, Jack. Closer than most would dare."

"Treason? Or perspective? There's a difference - though I don't expect High Command to recognize it."

"Then why intercept me? Why now?"

Harper drifted closer, slow, as though every move was rehearsed.

"Because it's a shame it had to end this way."

Williams' eyes narrowed, the words gnawed despite his silence.

Harper's gaze didn't waver. "Not Shanxi. Not the fleet. Those were always just assignments. I meant her. Them. The family you buried every time duty stripped you away. You tore yourself apart to be what they demanded - only to leave them with nothing but absence. That's the shame."

For the first time since leaving orbit, Williams' eyes slipped. No later, they hardened again just as quickly, but the damage was already done.

"You know nothing about them."

"I know enough. Enough to see the cracks High Command pretends aren't there. Enough to recognize a man who's already had to die four times just to keep living - while simultaneously struggling to maintain the walls you worked so hard to keep standing. Walls meant to hold humanity back. Walls that crumbled the moment someone whispered the right equation in the right ear. And suddenly, they were reaching for the stars before you could even brace for it."

The words slid like silk, but Williams froze. The echo of old reports and that bitter confession replaying in his mind. His eyes narrowed on Harper with a flash of dawning horror.

"It… it was you," Williams rasped. "You're the one who interfered with our plans! The hybrid - the one who nudged them forward - it was you!"

Harper's smile finally showed. He didn't confirm it outright, but the glint in his eyes was answer enough.

"You see, the funny thing about shame is that it always depends on the one who writes history."

Williams' fists clenched so hard the knuckles cracked.

"I should kill you here."

Harper didn't flinch. "You could. And you probably would. But if you strike me down, you'll never have the chance to take it back."

The words dug into Williams, unbalancing his anger with something colder - something he hadn't felt in years. His scowl wavered, confusion bleeding into the edges of rage.

"…What do you want?" he demanded.

Harper's expression shifted, the smirk fading into rare sincerity.

"What anyone wants. Freedom of choice. To live. To have a tomorrow. But I can't do it alone. I need allies - people who think, who question, who refuse to kneel. Their ideals don't need to mirror mine, only to hold true. Not just for themselves… but for us - humanity. The very puppets our overlords prize above all."

Silence settled between them. Williams' eyes drifted toward the glow of Earth's star thousands of light years away. His eyes softened, longing written in the shadow of his gaze. Yet still, doctrine rooted him, ironclad and immovable.

Harper caught the hesitation. With a reluctant sigh, he understood words wouldn't uproot him today. "I understand you're still troubled. You don't have to answer me now. But allow me to leave you with some words to contemplate."

He turned toward the stars, voice softening as if he were speaking more to them than to Williams.

"Out there, among the stars, most of those organics were taught to see the ugliness of this world - the chaos, the ruin. Viltrumites, though its foundation mirrored many others, taught us the opposite. Instead of ugliness, they taught us to see a mask of beauty, a universe waiting to kneel."

His hands lightly clenched, as if revolted at the thought.

"But we were taught a lie. Beneath the facade of progress, I saw the truth layered beneath. Their doctrine is a cage, preached to keep their little minions in line. We are prisoners who mistake the bars for purpose, Williams. Once they figure out a way to cure their lack of fertility, they won't need us anymore. And what do you think will happen then?"

His gaze flicked back to Williams, defiant.

"We've died many times, Williams. We've lived countless lives under borrowed names for the sake of a race that does not accept us. Once the truth comes to light, you know just as well that there is only one real end."

The stars recaptured his gaze, one that filled his vision with resolve.

"I've decided... that I will be writing this end myself."

Notes:

Authors Note:

9,837 words.

That's how much it took for me to get through this chapter.

A lot has been... unwrapped here. New faces, new strains, new conflict, and a lot of 'what the fuck is gonna happen now?'

I struggled hard on trying to implement Steven Hackett and/or Rael'Zorah to be involved in Shanxi - since I initially had the thought of having these two present during the fall out of Nolan/Athena's weird relationship - but I decided it was gonna be a headache and would save more of their influence on later chapters. I've already brainstormed a good bit of it, or at least a general idea of how it would go. As of now, if it isn't clear, they've fallen back with Commodore Hale deeper into human space.

I will be saying this here, this is as far Viltrumite interference goes in the First Contact War.

Next chapter, we will be exploring the fall-out of the human & quarian vs turian conflict, of how its shaken the galaxy, the improved relations of Human and Quarian allegiance, and where the Shepards will be going next.

There wont be a lot for world building since I will be summarizing some events for you all to get a better understanding (hopefully) of the galaxy. But there will still be character development involved.

Anyways, let me know what you all think. If there's something you feel that needs to be addressed, i'll consider touching up on it in the next chapter. For now, this chapter has drained me more than I cared to admit - but it was fun.

Ciao!

~TheLivingMyth

Side Note:

I've thrown a bunch of references in this chapter alone, though I've broken up a lot of it because I disliked how - plagiarizingly (i know that's not a word) childish it sounded. Kudos to anyone who can connect the dots, I'll consider giving you a sneak peak to the next chapter first before I publish it - if you're interested.

(Chapter updated September 22nd, 2025. With some insight, a lot of filler words and unnecessary verbiage/descriptions were cut down or reworded. I may update things again before continuing, but I find this a lot more acceptable than the first)